


Por Si Acaso No Recuerdas Mis Abrazos (Yo Te Dejo Mi Canción)

by Lire_Casander



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sex, F/M, Fluff, Fractured structure, M/M, Minor Character Death, Severe case of amnesia, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 21:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18396905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: After surviving an accident he can't remember, Kyle Peek is left to recover from his wounds in an almost complete solitude. When he receives the visit of one ghost from the past he knows he has but can't retrieve memories from, Kyle begins to question his new life and maybe, just maybe, starts to believe that forgiveness and remembrance are the roots to build a future of his own. But his biggest fear, his nightmare, follows him wherever he goes and he isn't sure he will be strong enough to survive the truth. And in the middle of it all, there are questions he has to ask although... will he be brave enough to fight for what he doesn't remember ever having?





	1. meet the past with a laced smile

**Author's Note:**

> **[disclaimer]** I do not own nor have ever met David Cook, Kyle Peek, Neal Tiemann, Andy Skib, Joey Clement, Hayden Peek, Nicole Peek or any other real person featured here. Everything about them is completely fiction, and any similarity with reality is a mere coincidence. I do not own _Cosas Que Suenan A..._ , _Story Of Your Life_ or _Don't Forget_ either. They're Maldita Nerea's, To Have Heroes' and Demi Lovato's respectively.  
>  **[additional disclaimer]** I do own Georgia Belle. Please do not use in any way without asking for permission. Chances are I will allow you to write her if you ask nicely.  
>  **[warnings]** Angst. Fluff. Swearing. Explicit sex. Minor characters' death. Severe case of amnesia. Fractured structure.  
>  **[acknowledgements]** Krystal, thank you for the amazing art you have made for this little fic of mine. I couldn't have imagined a better way to put into images the general feeling of this story.  
>  **[special acknowledgements]** Where can I begin? There are so many people I'd love to thank for their input in this trip. First and foremost, **Belinda** \- thank you for holding my hand through this and for cheering for me when I lost hope. **Sara** \- thanks for giving me strength to keep on with writing, and for not saying how much the first draft of the scenes sucked when you read them. **Kitin & Jay** \- thanks for never hesitating in being brutally honest when given the chance to find mistakes in my train of thought. **Jane & Sarah Beth** \- thank you for offering to read this and help me through the cracks in the plot. **Ayo & Chemical Wonder** \- thanks for bringing me the music to sing along while writing this story, all the videos and the information I lacked. **Bobbie** \- thank you for having a look at this and helping me through the process, and for being an understanding cowriter.  
>  **[author's notes]** I have taken some liberties with canon regarding this story - the most important is the complete messed-up timeline regarding Kyle Peek's birthday and the events that happened in real life that day. Due to necessity for the storyline, it takes place later than the actual birthday does, and though the name of the venue and the activies are the same, it is located in another state for the sake of continuity. Title taken from Maldita Nerea's _Cosas Que Suenan A..._. Epilogue subtitle taken from To Have Heroes' _Story Of Your Life_. Quote in the beginning from Demi Lovato's _Don't Forget_.  
>  **[additional author's notes]** I have only written two other stories almost as long as this one, [The Cost Of Getting Out Of Here Alive](http://lc-writings.livejournal.com/31732.html) and [Long Way Down (Check 'Yes' Or 'No')](http://checkyes-orno.livejournal.com/), and back then when I posted the first one I said it was my baby. Just like a mother loves all her children equally, a writer can love two or more of her stories equally as well. This is the case. I started writing this way back in June and decided it wasn't working when after almost a month I had about 2,000 words and no ideas. I threw it all away and began again from scratch, and this was born. I hope you have just as much fun reading this as I had writing it, and that it makes you feel the myriad of emotions it brought to me while I was imagining it.  
>  **[dedication]** To Belinda, for being always there, always waiting, and never giving up on me even when I truly deserved it. You really are the David Cook to my Kyle Peek, the beauty queen of all my fandoms.

**Por Si Acaso No Recuerdas Mis Abrazos** **  
(Yo Te Dejo Mi Canción)**

All the pictures have been burned  
  
All the past is just a lesson that we've learned  
  
Our love is like a song  
  
But you won't sing along  
  
You've forgotten about us  
  
Demi Lovato, _Don't Forget_

The view from the window pane shows an infinite ocean spreading wide to the horizon. He is sitting in his usual spot, at the lone table in front of the window, sipping his iced coffee through a straw. His eyes wander around the blue and green reflections as he distractedly stirs a giant cup of hot chocolate for the kid sitting next to him. 

"Are you sure you want your chocolate hot, Hayden?" he asks, never tearing his gaze from the sea. "It's also too hot outside for this." 

"But I like it hot," the kid replies, fidgeting in his chair. "Daddy, can I go play?" 

"Of course, Hayden. But don't go too far, okay?" 

The kid nods and slips out of the chair. He follows his son with his gaze, now that he has gathered the will to stop looking ahead. Hayden gets out of the door and runs around the building until he is at the other side of the window pane they were sitting in front of. 

The letter is unfolded right below his gaze, underneath his fingertips that clap on the table as Hayden jumps up and down with the other kids. He hasn't remembered what the letter was about, but it is a reminder of what he lost so long ago and he will never recover. Kyle knows the contents by heart; despite being able to recite it word by word, he dares a look down to the handwriting he always feared to find in his mailbox not so long ago. 

_Now that you're rich and famous, you have forgotten what you left behind, haven't you, Kyle? You never talk about her or what she gave to you; you never mention that she lost her life giving birth to that bastard you fathered; you never even say her name. Do your new friends know the kind of monster they live with? Do they accept the bastard? Do they mind you let her die and then kept on with your life as if she didn't matter to you? Did Nicole ever mean something, or was she just another figure in your wicked chess game?_

He manages to control his tears as he rereads the words; he can't keep them at bay for long, but it is enough for him to hide his face in his hands a few moments before regaining his calm. He looks at Hayden again. 

The child smiles and waves, and he waves back. With his attention now focused on his son, he takes another sip. Suddenly, Hayden squeals, running toward a spot out of his field of vision, and he sits up, alarmed. For a moment he loses sight of his son and he gets up worried. He can't afford not knowing where Hayden is, not now that he has him back. He looks around frantically, iced coffee and hot chocolate forgotten on the table, when Hayden enters the coffee shop, a wide smile painted on his face. 

"Hayden!" he calls, attracting the attention of other customers, a sea of heads snapping up to stare at them while Hayden speeds to his father who scoops him up easily when the little kid reaches him. "Don't ever do that again, okay?" he admonishes softly. "You have to be where I can see you, because I get worried when I can't." 

"But, Daddy," the kid protests, squirming out of his father's arms and down to the ground. 

"No _buts_ ," he cuts. "Now sit down and drink your chocolate. It might have cooled down a bit now." His voice doesn't leave any room for misunderstanding or protests, so Hayden obeys and takes his seat in silence. 

"Don't be so hard on him," a female voice rises at his back. "After all, he was greeting me, and I am not any stranger." 

He tenses up but doesn't look, doesn't turn around, for that would mean acknowledging someone he doesn't want to. His son blinks, struggling not to jump out of his chair and into her arms because his father is now staring at him sternly. 

"I suppose you don't want to talk to me, Kyle," the woman continues. "I can't say I understand, but it is not a reason to keep your son from being happy." 

"He _is_ happy," he replies, still looking at Hayden. 

"Really? How many times have you seen him smiling this widely in this last year? Kyle, your son needs us." 

"Don't you mean it's _you_ who need _him_?" he asks ironically, sarcasm lacing in his words. 

"That's true as well," she admits, walking around the table and sitting calmly in the only spare chair, with her back to the ocean. He is still seeing blue in her gaze, contrasting with the jet black of her hair. "We do need Hayden, and we need you, Kyle. Not only me, not only _him_ , Kyle, but everyone. They miss you. I miss you." 

"You know the sentiment isn’t mutual." He tears his gaze away from her mesmerizing eyes. "I am not coming back to wherever you are now. You should go back too; whatever it is you want to do here, you should already know that it won't be successful." 

She smiles but it is so devoid of feeling that it almost hurts him. Almost. Hayden is making slurping noises, and he wants to tell the child to stop but she is quicker. 

"Hayden." It's just one word, one name, but the kid stops without being told to. She hasn't even ceased smiling, and right now it is bothering him that the smile isn't quite reaching her eyes. "Listen, Kyle, I am not going to pretend that I don't want you back. I'm not going to mask my own pain. If I have come all the way here, it is not to convince you by using tricks. If anything, I am hoping the truth will be enough." 

He slams a hand on the table. Some people stare at them at the noise; he glances down at his fingers, blinking. Instead of hearing a jarring sound, it has been music to his ears. Hayden has stopped fidgeting by his side, his innocent eyes big and surprised. "Daddy," he says. "Daddy, you're doing music again." 

"Making." His voice melds with hers when both of them correct Hayden. "Again?" he asks softly. 

"I know you didn't believe me a year ago, Kyle," she starts. "I know you have spent all this time in denial, and that you have tried to start all over again, but even after all your efforts, even you have to admit that something is missing." 

"Do you always speak so pompously?" he questions rhetorically. Hayden snickers; she taps her fingers on the table before the kid reaches out and grabs her hand affectionately. 

"I speak English the way I was taught to," she explains patiently. "I'm Finnish,after all."

"I wouldn't have been able to tell," he replies, pointing at her black hair.

"Oh, this?" She tugs at it with a sad smile. "I had to dye it black after... Well, let's say that this color suits better the cuts and bruises I had in my skull." Her frown appears for the first time and he backs down; he bites his tongue and just says half the comment he is thinking.

"From the infamous accident?" 

"From it, yes." She stares into space for a moment before getting back into their reality. "Anyway, I will be able to go back to my natural color once the hair grows a bit more."

He sighs; his grip tightens around the paper in his hands. She notices the movement and curls her free hand on his. "I don't even..." he begins and then trails off. She nods, as if she understands but he is sure she doesn't.

"He's in jail now," she says. He doesn't know what she is talking about. "Joseph," she clarifies. "In the end your declaration wasn't needed; Dave helped a lot to get that madman off of the streets." He blinks; the moment is gone when she reclaims her hand and holds back another sigh. "And now, if you allow me, I'd love to go back to this moment in time when I am trying to talk some sense back into you and convince you that you were a drummer in what seems like another life. You know you can go back there anytime, but that moment is now or never, Kyle." 

"I can't see how you're going to convince me to do something I don't remember ever doing." 

"That requires some skills I don't have," she confesses. "I just thought I could help you remember. But I guess I was wrong. If a year has not managed to help you remember, I don't see how a simple girl will be able to." She slowly rises from her seat, gently dislodges her fingers from Hayden's. The kid whimpers but she is strong and looks straight ahead. "I will leave now, Kyle. My flight takes off tomorrow morning, I should rest a while or else they will know I haven't slept in the hotel room." She takes a step toward the door when his own hand reaches out and curls around her wrist. She remains still. 

"They don't know you're here?" 

"No." There is a slight trembling in her voice, the shyest shadow of tremor before she can control it. 

"Why?" He wants to know, he really wants to know, but from the look in her eyes he realizes she is not going to answer. 

"Goodbye, Kyle." She frees her arm from him and walks away slowly. Hayden stands up and, without asking for permission, runs after her. 

"Auntie Georgia, Auntie Georgia, wait, please!" The kid has tears flowing freely down his cheeks. She turns around in the last moment, right before crossing those glass doors, and catches Hayden when he jumps forward. She mutters something in the child's hair, a lonely tear finding its way out from under her eyelashes. With a final caress, she withdraws from Hayden and steps back, leaving the kid standing in the middle of the coffee shop. When she makes it out of the building, hers are not the only blue eyes crying a river.


	2. one and one not always are two

Their mouths crash without warning, teeth clashing in frantic drunkenness. Kyle allows his hands to move from her shoulders so they are wandering south to rest just above the waist of her dress, itching to travel further but shy at the same time. She clutches his neck almost painfully, grasping a few astray hairs from his nape and twisting them in her fingers. She is shorter than he is, so Kyle takes advantage of his slightly taller height to push her backwards until her knees hit the mattress and she falls on the bed with a fit of giggles against his mouth, pulling him down on top of her. 

Kyle refrains from biting those lush lips, instead nipping gently at them as his hands search for the zipper of her pink dress. She doesn't even resist; she reaches up and starts tugging at his tie until it is askew, hanging sideways from the neck of his shirt. He doesn't know exactly what he is doing, as he fumbles to get rid of the clothes separating him from the heat of her body; she seems eager as well to undress him but she is more skilled than he is, and that makes Kyle wonder if this is not her first time. For as much porn as he has watched with his friends, he never thought it would be this difficult to get a girl naked in his bed. 

She is still giggling when Kyle manages to take her dress off without ripping it, and by then she has tugged down his slacks that are pooling around his ankles. Leaving her for a second, eagle–sprawled on the bed, he pulls back and steps out of his trousers; after a moment of hesitation and an approving nod from her, he takes his boxers off as well. She is still wearing her underwear, but Kyle growls that he doesn't like it, so she wriggles a finger at him, and Kyle obeys because he needs this as much as he can tell she does. In the three crawls that take him back hovering above her, he has ripped his shirt from his chest along with the t–shirt he has been wearing underneath. He fumbles with the front lock of her pink, silky bra, trying to ignore her squeezes below his waist; if he doesn’t, he’s going to finish this sooner than expected. 

Her breasts are round and soft, perky nipples calling to attention under his thumb as he swirls his finger over them. She stills and moans, tensing up against him. Kyle smirks, relishing in the fact that he now has the control, and catches her right nipple between his thumb and his index finger, applying pressure and flicking at it before moving to the other nipple. When he is done using his fingers she is a moaning boneless heap under him, arching up wantonly against his crotch. Her wetness has soaked her knickers and it is matching the damp spot he is leaving on them as well. Suddenly inspired, he ducks his head and takes one of her nipples inside his mouth, sucking at it as if it were some delicious treat. His hands find their way to her waist, and he is pulling her knickers down, fully exposing her to the cool air of the room. She shivers under his ministrations; he kisses a trail of sloppy wetness down her chest and her stomach until reaching the curly forest that is wildly awaiting for him. She moans and grabs fistfuls of sheet as he tastes every inch of skin, his fingers finding a way to her heat, slick and endearing, so endearing he is yearning to be inside, engulfed by this caress. She urges him, spreading her legs further to allow Kyle better access to her lower body, Kyle who has his tongue stuck to that nub, hard and eager, Kyle who is fighting to maintain his cool before he spills himself on top of her. He withdraws his hands, both at the same time, from her insides and her breasts, hearing her complain in a whimpery whisper, breathy with need. 

Kyle shoots a hand to his discarded jacket, where his wallet still is, and fishes for the condom he stocked there in case he got lucky. Only now he can't find it; he is checking in the wallet but there is only his driving license and a couple of bills. He glances up at her, suddenly very aware of the awkwardness of his naked body, but he doesn't think of covering himself. He doesn't know how to tell her that he has no protection. 

She props herself on her elbows and quirks an eyebrow at him. Kyle decides to go for the truth, but she doesn't seem fazed. She assures him that she has no sexually transmitted disease since this is her first time, and he confirms that he has only reached a home run with his hand before. She tries to calm his insecurities by telling him that there is near to zero risk of her getting pregnant, and besides it is just once so they don't have to worry. Kyle knows he should refuse, he should learn to keep his dick in his pants even when it wants to come out to play, but he is seventeen and this is his Welcome Ball night and he has the Fall Queen spread and naked on a hotel bed, so he doesn't really think. He asks her if this is really what she wants because even in his hazed state he knows there will be no way back after he settles for the fall. She nods eagerly, and Kyle finally lets go. 

He covers her body with his own, scattering kisses on the feverish skin until he has her writhing underneath him again, begging for more. He knows it is time for the whole home run, right now, and he lifts his weight on his right hand as he takes hold of his erection and helps to put it into a woman's. She is tight, and she grimaces as he breaches her. He stops for a second, allowing her some time to adjust to the intrusion, and when she exhales a sigh and grabs his ass to grind closer to his body Kyle takes it as permission to continue. He inches into her slowly but not stopping, until she has engulfed him whole and the tightness is driving him crazy. He needs to move but he is also aware that she might need some more time. She starts moving almost timidly, hips rocking gently against his own, and Kyle has never felt a bliss so pure as this one. There is a white line of stars dancing in front of his eyes; he is not going to last any longer, and he can tell she is close too despite all those urban tales about women needing more time than men. He pushes inside once more and sneaks a hand in between their bodies to flick his fingers at her clit. She cries out and clamps around him, drawing his climax out of him. With a scream of his own, Kyle comes inside of her.

He collapses on top of her, boneless and sweaty, feeling all different kinds of exhaustion and exhilaration. He can feel himself going soft inside of her, and he tries to pull away but she has her hands of the small of his back and she is pushing down, whispering nonsensical words into his ear as he returns the favor and babbles gibberish as well. His hands roam up and down her body, his tongue maps out her neck once again; when she wriggles around uncomfortably Kyle takes possession of her mouth and he kisses her deeply to swallow her protests as he tries again to dislodge himself from her but she prevents him from it. One of her hands wanders south and squeezes his ass, and that's how he knows she wants more than just this. Inside of her, he is swelling again at the prospect. Her wicked smile tells him all he needs to know. 

Several hours later, they both fall asleep, sweaty and spent. Kyle is still engulfed in her heat when the morning comes to wake him up; the stickiness of his own body feels gross and he wants to get rid of it but there is no way he can get off the bed without waking her. Frowning, he looks at her face, sunbathed in the early morning. The night before she looked like a princess, but now she is just like any other girl – pale skin underneath ruined make up, bed hair and probably morning breath. He grimaces but sucks it up because no first time is ever perfect, and he surely isn't the only one to go to bed with Cinderella and wake up with the Wicked Witch of the East. His fingers play a new tune on the mattress, near her ear, something that pops in his head and begs to be taken care of. She wakes up to the sound of his nails tapping, ever so softly, and she smiles. He smiles back. 

Kyle Peek is seventeen and he feels on top of the world, already a man. 

They walk into the building hand in hand that Monday, and the days after it. The drummer wannabe and the queen. They are the couple of the moment, everyone knows everything about them and they are the most talked about subject for weeks. Kyle is happy with how his life has turned out to be. Maybe he is not yet the rocker he feels pushing from inside, but he is as successful as a teenager can be. 

It is six weeks into their blossoming serious relationshipwhich they sealed with a shared night of passion under the covers of a fancy hotel room that her father calls his mother and they agree to meet at her house that evening. His mother forces him to wear his best suit, the one from his father's funeral, and they both wait nervously for the door to open after his mother has politely knocked – they miss Kyle's brother Josh's football match; Kyle would have felt really out of place dressed like that while cheering for his brother as Josh plays like the quarterback he is at heart. It is an eternity of silence and hysteria until an old man in a uniform opens the door and grants them access. Her family is waiting for them in the living room; his mother nods appreciatively at the sight of the perfect family in front of her – blond, beautiful and complete. Kyle can see apprehension in his girlfriend's eyes; that switches something on in him, something that sounds suspiciously like fear. He sits when and where he is told to, his mother following suit. There is a cup of tea cooling off on the coffee table at his right. 

Her father clears his throat as Kyle braces himself for whatever is coming. He has no idea about what this all means, but it can't be good if it has his girlfriend on the tip of her toes. And then three words change his life forever. 

"Nicole is pregnant." 

He always thought the traditional wedding vows would be the most important three words of his life, but it turns out to be he was mistaken. Blood flees from his face to hide somewhere under his feet where he can't recover it. His mother lets out an undignified squeak, earning them both a disdainful look of superiority from their counterparts. Kyle swallows hard around the sudden lump that has taken hostage of his throat.

"I want to know what you are going to do about this, since it is evidently your fault," the man continues. Kyle stares at him agape; she doesn't say anything either. 

"I believe if there's someone to blame, that would be both of them," Kyle's mother speaks for the first time. "I highly doubt it's solely my son's fault when to get someone pregnant. Two are needed." 

The snort is short but powerful. Kyle still can't believe any of this surreal situation. He keeps thinking that any time now he will wake up and this will only be a bad nightmare. 

Only it isn't, and he is still trapped in that living room when he opens his eyes that he closed out of feeling overwhelmed. Her family is still staring at him like he has some sort of contagious disease. 

"I don't know," he finally replies to Nicole's father, when it is evident that his mother is being ignored. "I'm only seventeen!" 

"Your age was not an obstacle when you chose to deflower my daughter." The way this man is speaking, Kyle gets the impression that he is actually at fault – as if he had forced her to do something she hadn't wanted to as well. Unexpected anger swells inside of him, memories of their first night together, their _only_ time of unprotected sex, bubbling in his mind as he recalls asking her, repeatedly, if it was okay. 

"Why do I have the feeling you're implying my son forced your daughter?" his mother asks, intently ignoring the silence her words meet. 

"Since Nicole has declined to pursue any kind of legal actions," the man continues; Kyle feels fear too, Nicole just stares at her hands. "We have decided that she is having the baby, because our religion forbids any kind of murder, and abortion is one of them." 

"But my daughter has a brilliant future waiting for her," the mother speaks for the first time. Kyle anticipates nothing good coming from her. "A baby at seventeen would hinder her chances of becoming the first Miss America with a double degree in Sciences and History." 

Kyle wants to laugh because who the hell thinks about university and pageant contests at a moment like this? However, he manages to keep it inside. 

"So," the father finishes. "Nicole will be sent away during the pregnancy and the baby will be given to you. We will not bring up a bastard." 

"Is this what you want, Nicole?" he dares to ask, but his girlfriend shrugs and that's all he's going to get out of her. "Nicole." 

"Just... It's better this way," she mutters. Kyle stares at her in disbelief, but she won't say anything else. He tries to imagine how it has been for her, the hell she has gone through, the feelings numbing her if she thinks about giving up her baby. His mother doesn't say anything either, he suspects it is because she knows how useless that would be, because someone has to act like a fucking adult when it is obvious that the goddamned family won't. Kyle hasn't sworn so much in his mind since his father died, a couple of years ago. 

"I guess there's nothing else to say," Kyle's mother finally speaks, already getting up from her seat. "I will have my lawyers send you an agreement to sign," she adds. Kyle frowns, just like Nicole's father. 

"What for?" the man voices everyone's question. 

"Oh," Kyle's mother smiles sweetly, which can only mean she has a trick up her sleeve. "Since you are so willingly giving up on the baby's upbringing, you won't have any problem in agreeing to decline any claim on him or her anytime in the future." Kyle wants to kiss her for being so clever, so wise, and though he knows there is a hell of a reprimand coming his way when they make it back home he is also aware that she will always support him. "If you don't, I will make sure the baby is listed under your family name, since not signing will equal to acknowledging him or her." 

Everyone is silent for a second or two, angels dancing around them, until Nicole nods slightly, attracting her father's gaze. "Nicole, you don't have a say in–––" 

"But I do," she dares to speak up for herself. "I am being taken away, forced to abandon my child, and you still want to be able to claim the baby when he or she is older? That baby will always be a bastard," she stresses that last word viciously. "I will be eighteen in August," she continues, turning to Kyle and his mother. "If my father refuses to sign the agreement, I will when I'm of age. Could you wait that long?" 

They don't have any other option, not even her father, so Kyle accepts though his heart is breaking. They are unceremoniously kicked out of the sumptuous house shortly after reaching that understanding, Kyle and his mother finding themselves standing at the other end of a picket fence before they can actually register what has just happened. His fingers curl around the bars, knuckles going white as he grabs them tighter; his mother reaches out and covers his hands with hers, opening his grip and forcing him to step away. She helps him turn away when he feels his feet are glued to the ground, but she can't avoid Kyle looking back and then his eyes meet Nicole, proudly still over the green lawn covering her garden, waving goodbye. He drinks her image in as much as he can, unable to tear his gaze away. 

It is the last time he ever sees her. 

For the next months he has to cover up her absence with the lies her father provides through a letter. At high school no one knows about the pregnancy, and he thinks they'd rather remain ignorant. When the baby will be born, he probably won't be in touch with anyone from school, as Nicole is due in August. The agreement comes in the mail on a Wednesday, signed by her parents. It frees him a little, but there is still so much to do, so much to take care of, and he feels too young to carry this weight. His mother supports him; she hasn't even said a thing about what he has taken to call a mistake, but Kyle would have preferred the yells for she is subjecting him to the silent treatment. 

The sleepless nights mend one into the next, and soon enough he is sporting dark, dark bags under his eyes, worry and defeat written all over his face in the morning. One day, after school, he sits down alone – Josh is somewhere with his friends; Kyle's mother hasn't any need to worry about him doing anything silly because Josh has learned from his older brother's mistakes – at the kitchen table and stares at the framed picture his mother has on her mantelpiece. It shows them both, Kyle and Nicole, right before the ball. He has his arm around her naked shoulders, black against pink blinding him. He doesn't realize he is crying as he looks at his happiest self. He had the world to take over, and he gave it all up for one heated moment of passion and craziness. He lets go of the frame and buries his face in the crook of his arms, sobs finally reigning over his body. His shoulders sag and his whole self seems under some kind of spell that prevents him from regaining any heat and instead all he feels is a bone crushing cold. His mother finds him like that, still hidden behind his own flesh, trembling and wailing. She drops the bags she's been carrying all the way from the grocery store to the floor and rushes to him. She kneels by his side, his thin frame engulfed in her embrace, as she rocks him back and forth. 

"Everything will be okay," she whispers in his ear. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, Mom. I'm sorry," his chants fall out of his lips in broken stutters that his mother silences by turning him around and pressing his face against her chest. 

"It will be okay, Kyle," she assures him. "We will get over this and we will make this work, together." 

Kyle sobs louder for a while until his eyes dry off and all he is left to do is clutching his mother's shirt with his tight grip. 

They don't speak about it anymore, not even when they are shopping for cradles and diapers and baby supplies as the day gets closer and closer. Kyle grows more and more nervous as the summer rolls in, spending his hours at home painting the room that will be the nursery once the baby is born and running errands for his mother on the weekends while she is working extra hours to be able to pay all the bills. Their relationship isn't strained anymore, but Kyle can feel that something is broken; he finds himself wishing he would have had more of a common sense the night of the ball. The summer holidays surprise him unprepared; he misses his graduation ball because he doesn't want to go without her so he spends the evening lazing around until his mother comes come and they decide on a take away dinner. Kyle is reaching for the phone when his cell starts ringing stubbornly. He figures it is some of his classmates wanting to convince him to at least attend the fun after the ball; he picks it from the table in the middle of the living room and flips it open without checking the caller ID so he is startled when a breathy voice stutters in his ears. 

"Kyle..." 

He would have recognized it even with his eyes closed and impaired hearing. 

"Nicole!" 

"Kyle," she manages to say, voice filled with hurt and effort. "Kyle, please..." 

"Nicole, what happened?" he raises his voice unadvisedly, which attracts his mother's attention and she walks in, apron half knotted at her back because, even having agreed to the take–away, she always prepares a homemade salad. "Nicole, talk to me!" 

"It hurts," she whispers. "It hurts, Kyle. I don't know what to do... it hurts..." 

"Where are you?" he has run to the hall and he is rummaging through the keys in the plate trying to find his car keys. 

"At the hospital... My father..." 

"Shhh," he hushes her, victoriously taking his keys out of the jumble. His mother follows him, getting the apron off and putting on her shoes that were waiting besides the front door. "I'm coming, can you hear me? I'm on my way there. He will not hurt you, Nicole. I won't let him, okay?" 

"Call the baby Hayden," she mutters, voice more and more distant. "Hayden..." 

Kyle loses her on the phone shortly after starting his car. He drives fast, breaking so many traffic rules that his mother stops calling him on it because she loses track around the twentieth time. There are several hospitals in Los Angeles, but he knows exactly which one she is at. After months apart, his only contact with Nicole has been through her family, so he knows she wanted to have the baby in her town and the closest hospital has been her choice. He practically chews off someone's head when they get into a traffic jam; as he taps impatiently the steering wheel, his mother's hand crawls to cover his. "She'll be okay. I promise." 

"Don't promise what you cannot control," he snaps. 

They reach the hospital twenty minutes later; Kyle jumps out of the car the second he kills the engine, and he speeds up to the waiting room of the ER. He looks wildly around but he doesn't see her family. He is about to start screaming when his mother approaches him. 

"She's in the second floor," she says. "I've asked the lady in reception." 

"Second floor?" he asks stupidly. 

"Yes. It's the area reserved for childbirth. Now let's go." 

They walk together the corridors until they find the elevators. When they reach the second floor and its waiting room, the sick feeling Kyle has been having sets off. Her mother is crying helplessly in a corner. 

"Where's Nicole?" he demands, hoping his voice doesn't crack. It doesn't. 

"You!" her father appears out of nowhere and lunges at him, arms stretched out to try and catch him. Kyle jumps backwards into the nearest wall. "You have brought this upon my family!" 

"Joseph!" 

"What?" Kyle demands, his nails scraping the wall painting. "What happened?" 

"Are you happy now?" her father snarls viciously, threatening to punch him. "First you take her future and now you take her life. Are you happy now?" 

It dawns on him although he doesn't want to believe it. Someone manages to pry Nicole's father from him before he is throttled; Kyle unglues himself from the wall and starts running to the door but his mother stops him. He falters and falls down on his knees, which suffer the impact and crack as if he has broken them, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that the sound is his own heart. Nicole's father is still raging, but he is no longer a menace. Kyle remains like that, still on the floor, as the tears refuse to bribe the fortress of his eyelashes. He thinks that these things only happen in the movies, never in real life, but he soon learns that real life can be much more of a tragedy than any film plot. The doctors and the nurses come and go, they explain reasons why Nicole will never come back – he had that tiny hope that, when they both turned eighteen, she would move in with him defying her family. He has discovered that things like being too young, too small, too narrow, are important when the mother to be is eighteen and giving birth but she doesn't weight enough, doesn't dilate enough. The doctors couldn't do anything to save her, or so they say, the excuse burning deep and flaring in Kyle's soul as his whole world crumbles once again. 

Nicole's family leave the hospital that same night, her mother cradled in her father's arms, without even sparing a glance to the nursery where their grandson sleeps safely. Kyle gathers up his courage in the wee hours of the morning and walks, instead of running away, till he stands in front of the big glass where other proud fathers have shown their babies to relatives and friends. He is accompanied only by his mother and no one points him in the right direction but he knows the baby yawning and gnawing on his fist is his son. 

Hayden.


	3. in between the summer and the fall

He stares at the table where Hayden is once again sitting with him, a blank stare now replacing the tears. The sun is setting outside; it is almost time to go back home and put Hayden to sleep, but a strange force keeps him seated. His iced coffee cup lies forgotten on the table. 

He balls the letter in his right hand before he can realize what he has done, the worn and cracked paper breaking under the scrape of his nails. His sweat dissolves the ink that sweeps through his fingers and tattoos his knuckles with rivers of black. His memory is a whirlpool of thoughts he can't organize; it always leads him back to the moment when he opened his eyes after the accident and saw those faces, the five strangers with a kid asleep on the woman's arms. Kyle hadn't recognized any of them, not even his own son, at first; that had seemed to break something in the auburn haired man who had been sitting on the uncomfortable chair by the hospital bed, for he had started crying when Kyle had asked who they were. Fortunately, his mother had managed to make it from Los Angeles and had saved him from the headache of trying to decipher what that man was saying. The woman had left the kid, still asleep, right besides Kyle on the bed, and she had promised she would be back sometime. She had never stepped into the room for as long as Kyle had stayed in the hospital lost in the middle of nowhere, but now she is in the city of angels to bring him memories he can't grasp. 

He knew this moment was coming, ever since he arrived in Los Angeles after the accident he couldn't remember ever being involved in. There was a big black hole in his memory where almost a year of experiences should have been, and time hasn't made it easier. Contrary to what the doctors had predicted, he hasn't remembered anything. He would never admit it, but the frustrating feeling of not knowing was overwhelming. His mother was helpful in the beginning, accepting him and Hayden back in her home when he had had nowhere else to go; she gave him space and time to recover from a crash that had left him with a broken leg and a strained shoulder, though the cuts and bruises in his soul still remain. Hayden sighs into his cold chocolate. 

He doesn't know anything about his life between his mother pushing him out of the house to attend a secret audition and the day he woke up in a hospital bed with the strongest headache of his life. At first, he hadn't even remembered ever having a son; he worked hard to recover the memories of Hayden's first years, but after that there is just a void he can't fill in any way he can think of. And the hole in his mind, those ten months he thinks he will never have back, is almost as wide as the blank in his heart that he doesn't know how to get rid of. As much as he has tried, he isn't able to shake off the feeling that he is missing out on one of the most important moments of his life, but he comforts himself by repeating endlessly that being able to raise Hayden is the only thing that matters.

"Daddy, I'm tired," Hayden says softly, sniffing. "Can we go see Grams?" 

"Of course, Hayden," he grants, finding that he is exhausted as well. "Let's go." He stretches out his hand and Hayden takes it obediently. 

"Daddy, can we see Auntie Georgia before she leaves?" 

"Hayden, I am tired as well and I don't want to talk," he reasons with his son. "And she is not your aunt, you know, she isn't." 

Hayden blinks but doesn't say anything else, and they spend the trip back to their house in an uncomfortable silence. It is the first time Kyle has been allowed out of the building on his own with his son since being discharged from the hospital, and he has the inkling that it has turned out to be a disaster thanks to the intervention of that stranger his son seems to know in and out. When the car pulls in the driveway in front of the two–story house and comes to a stop, Hayden manages to open his door and he jumps out of the vehicle. His father remains inside, behind the wheel, head resting on the leather. A woman, gray hair and weary features, welcomes Hayden with open arms. She dares a glance at the car and the glimpse is enough for her. 

"Hayden, get inside. You can play with your guitar," she commands, opening the front door. The child saunters happily inside, but before disappearing completely he shouts that they have seen his Auntie Georgia. The woman nods and walks to the car. 

"Kyle," she calls softly, surrounding the car and leaning on the driver's door. "Kyle, darling." 

"Leave me alone, Mom," he drawls from his spot, his head still down, his face hidden in the nest created between the steer wheel and his own arms thrown over it. 

"Kyle, is everything okay?" 

He wants to laugh bitterly because evidently nothing is okay, because his son recognizes a woman who obviously he cares enough about that he calls her _auntie_ , and Kyle doesn't. Kyle doesn't know who that woman is, and his biggest fear is that, for as much as he tries, he will never remember those ten months that apparently changed his life forever. Instead of laughter, though, a sob rises from his throat, edgy and shaky; he braces himself for the inevitable break down he knows is coming. 

"No," he says finally. "Nothing is fine, Mom. Nothing is okay and it's my fault that I can't remember, and it's my fault Hayden isn't happy..." 

"Wait, Kyle, wait," his mother pats him on the shoulder. "Where is all this coming from? Hayden is happy, he has his father back with him." 

"But I can't remember how he grew up last year or where I bought him that horrid shirt that is already too small for him but he insists in wearing! And I don't know who she is, and she was at the hospital with those other four men when I woke up, and she is someone important for Hayden but I can't remember!" 

His mother rubs soothing circles on his back as the first tears start falling down his cheeks. He shivers, his head still hidden; his mother gently pries his face away from his arms and she forces him to look at her. "Listen, Kyle, I know this is hard," she says. "You have spent the best part of a year recovering, son. You have started remembering about three months ago. You can't blame yourself for not knowing who Georgia is because eight months ago all you knew about yourself was what everyone else told you." 

Kyle nods faintly. His mother is right, as always; he has worked hard to recover his memories but some are still blurry, especially the ones that involve the people Georgia represents. He has gone through four years of his life in less than one, but there are still some memories he knows he will never have back. A part of himself aches at the thought that his four–year–old son knows more than he will ever be able to remember, and there is a void no therapy has been capable of filling. A void he feels whenever he thinks of the faces of those five strangers who were staring at him earnestly. Back then, he hadn't even known who the toddler in the woman's arms was; and now it breaks his heart knowing that, for as brief a moment as it was, he hadn't recognized his own son. 

"The doctors said that you could lead a normal life," his mother continues. "But I think I didn't act like your mother here, Kyle." 

"Mom, don't say that," he complains. "You took me back when I still believed I was seventeen, when no one knew if I could ever remember who Hayden was. You have taken care of both of us!" 

"I have kept something from you," she explains, fingers threading through his hair. "Something that I did while you were on that tour that almost cost you your life; I thought that, even if I didn't show you, you would remember on your own, but honestly I believe that I didn't want you to remember that time because you would fly away from me again." 

He frowns in confusion. His mother has acted like a perfect mother to him – she has taken care of him and his son, she has helped him remember by not giving up, by never pressuring him to get to the point where he would know everything he has forgotten. He knows a lot now, and maybe it is really a small price to pay if he has to lose those months to have the rest of his life, but the itch is still there and the feeling that he should know who Georgia is grows stronger by the second. 

"Come inside, Kyle," his mother says, getting up. "I think it's time for me to fix my mistakes. Maybe it's not too late." 

"Too late for what?" he demands; he is already stepping out of the car and closing the door by the time his mother is on her way to the house. He locks the car because this is Los Angeles and even if the vehicle is in their yard he doesn't want to risk it being broken into. He follows his mother as she walks inside and finds the path to the stairs that lead to the basement. From the memories he kept from before the accident he knows that basement is where he used to play drums, when he was angry or depressed or hyper and needed to let out the energy. He hasn't set foot in it in the months he has been living here after the accident, he hasn't played drums for that long; his mother has had it locked, explaining that going downstairs would only mean heartbreak for him. He had taken that explanation because it had come from his mother; now he doesn't know what to think, only that this seems to be like one of those top secret mysteries every family hides in a closet. As they climb down the stairs, the sound of Hayden playing guitar fades slowly into the background. He wonders for a second where his son has learned since he, being a musician, doesn't have the slightest idea as to how to pluck the strings and he remembers clearly Hayden's mother being musically challenged, as she liked to put it. However, he doesn't have the time to think about it since they have reached the bottom of the stairs. His mother opens the door at his bewilderment because he always thought it was closed under seven locks and not it turns out to be a lie. He follows her through the threshold and stays still until she pushes on the light key. A yellow light bathes everything; he looks around in awe. 

There is a drum set labeled _Ludwig_ in the middle of the room, surrounded by a couple of guitars and a bass. Music sheets are scattered on the floor, and he resists the urge to pick them up. His gaze roams through the basement until he notices the pictures on the wall – the five strangers smiling back at him, Hayden playing with Georgia, he himself seemingly happy behind the same drum set he can see now sitting on the basement. Pictures of Hayden and one of the guys, Kyle and this same guy, all over the place. The guy is all smiles in every single picture Kyle sees, it doesn't matter where he looks; it seems this man is the epitome of happiness. His attention is caught by one shot, stuck to the wall with cello tape. Kyle stares at himself staring back, a plaid shirt on and a tie placed around his head looking so out of place that it is almost painful. This is not this stylism anymore, and though obviously his clothing choices in the past were horrendous, he seems to have improved a lot since. But what calls to him is not the difference between his current shirt and the picture's, but the genuine glint of mirth he can see in his own eyes. He is sharing the frame with this same man, auburn hair almost wild and expressive eyes and wide, contagious smile. Both of them are half ignoring the photographer, the Kyle in the picture turned sideways – he is looking at the unknown guy, one hand reaching out to pet his hair. The stranger is laughing; Kyle can almost hear his voice as if it were a video instead of a still frame. He wonders where that sounds comes from, realizing that his memory is supplying blurry images of a past he can't quite remember yet. 

He turns to his mother. "What is this?" he demands, gobsmacked. 

"This, Kyle," she finally concedes with a tired voice. "This is your life."


	4. love for a child never requires two for the taking

Kyle realizes that time does indeed fly when you have kids. One day he is changing diapers the way his mother taught him to, fighting with the fabric of Hayden's clothes, and the next he finds himself mesmerized by the awesomeness of his son saying his first words. One week turns into one month and as the pain of losing Nicole subsides so grows his love for the tiny baby born two months before his time. Time goes by fast, the days merging into weeks as he finds a job at a retail store and attends night drum classes at the same academy he used to. His eighteen years become twenty in the blink of an eye, eaten up by the energy of a toddler with life spread in front of him. His mother makes double shifts to make ends meet when the last day of the month rolls by, his salary completely spent in baby supplies.

One Friday, when he is gathering his belongings and covering the drum set with the canvas he bought especially for it, his teacher calls him.

"Kyle, come here a second," he says clearly. Kyle complies, ambling to the man who has been organizing papers on the lonely desk on the farthest corner of the room. "Kyle, I want you to listen to me."

"I always listen to you," Kyle replies promptly.

"There is an audition tomorrow," the teacher continues as if Kyle hasn't spoken. "It's a great opportunity for you to find what you have been looking for these past years. It seems a good band formed by good people. You may have a chance to join them."

Kyle sighs, because there is nothing left for him to do but breathe. "I really thank you for telling me," he finally replied after what seems to stretch for hours even though it is barely a couple of seconds. "But as much as I'd love to, I cannot risk what I have now. Hayden needs me, I can't even think about going to the grocery store without him, and if I audition, whatever the outcome, I'd have taken someone else's place or I'd have to refuse if they chose me."

His teacher shakes his head. "I think you should audition, Kyle. Let's say it's a secret audition, not many people know about it since it is _not_ public and the artist wants it to remain as private as possible."

"Then how have you known?" Kyle is truly curious now, and maybe a little intrigued about this mysterious artist who doesn't want to be known.

"I have a past as well, Kyle," his teacher smiles. "And I have connections and some friends. We have been asked to send a couple of drummers, Kyle, and you are one of them. But you just do what you feel is good for you and your family. I just thought that so much talent shouldn't go to waste in nightly classes and retail stores. You were born to drum, but even drumming is a choice for you."

Kyle nods. He knows his teacher only wants the best for him, musically speaking, and that he has always been supportive whenever his family was concerned. He figures he doesn't lose anything for trying, only a Saturday morning in the worst of chances, so he smiles and writes down dutifully the exact time and address where the audition will take place. His teacher beams when they wave goodbye a while later.

His mother wakes him up at six the next morning. He has had a rough night with his son because Hayden has caught the flu and he hasn't slept a wink at all, but he gets up anyway and gulps two cups of coffee in their kitchen. When Kyle came home and told his mother about the audition, it was as carefully as he could – he doesn't want to keep his hopes up because he knows he doesn't stand a chance, what with him not being able to travel and rehearsals not being the best place to raise a kid. He doesn't even know who or what he will be auditioning for, but he is so sure he is not a suitable option that he doesn't even care about his looks and ends up driving to the small café open for the occasion in his torn jeans and a wrinkled t–shirt; at least he has changed into clean clothes instead of wearing the sweaty outfit from last night. He finds the place easily enough though it brings so many memories back to him – it is where he used to take Nicole on dates after school, for a milkshake and some French fries, when life was easy and they were just two teenagers living life to its fullest. A couple of months after Nicole's death, the café burnt down to its foundations and had to be rebuilt; the owners decided back then to turn it into a small venue for low–profile shows; Kyle has played several times there with different bands when he had to cover up for their drummers. When he manages to park the car, some blocks away from the place, he walks back leisurely, enjoying the cool breeze of October's fall curling its fleshless fingers around his locks. There is a small line of sturdy guys waiting outside, all smoking or looking like they could use a fag. Kyle sighs and goes sit on the curbside; he knows his name is on the list so he will be called when his time comes. He has been to enough of these private auditions, put his hopes on the line too many times. He looks up at the blue morning sky and waits. Two hours pass by, the other drummers enter and exit with defeat written in their features, and then he hears his name. He stands up, brushes the dirt off his jeans and follows the tall man that has appeared by the doorway. The place is darkened, the dim light coming from a small lamp on a table contrasting with the brightness he has just left behind. There are three people sitting at the table, perusing through what looks like a dossier. Kyle squints his eyes and he deciphers a few letters written in a messy handwriting. When he approaches the source of the light he can make out his name. He lets out a surprised exclamation muffled by his hand, which has shot up to his mouth. He understands his teacher's insistence – this is not a usual audition. This is an interview, the step after the actual playing of drums he has prepared himself for. He can't help but wonder if these people really know how good he is.

"Kyle Peek, right?" the guy sitting in the middle says, voice deep and gentle. "Take a seat, please. We'd like to talk for a while."

He complies, if only for the sake of his suddenly wobbly legs. That voice has reached deep inside of him, and he finds himself yearning to hear it again. However, it is the man sitting at Kyle's left, dark hair perpetually tousled and boyish smile, who speaks this time. "I bet you have tons of questions." Kyle nods, his head bobbing up and down while his eyes are still trained to the guy in the middle. "Fire away. We'll do our best to answer."

"What is this all about?" he grits out, his voice suddenly caught in his throat, raspy and unsure. "I was told this was an audition. Are you even going to let me play?" He doesn't even know why the idea of not playing now bothers him so much but a part of him wants these guys to listen to him – wants _him_ to acknowledge his talent, to clap at his brilliance even if he is not going to make it to the band.

"We know you are good," the blond from Kyle's right intervenes.

"How can you?" Kyle sighs. "It's not like you know how I sound."

"Pete sent us a video," the blond answers. Kyle has yet to decide whether or not he is bothered by his forwardness or blinded by the sudden brightness shining from the snakebites in his lips. "Anyway, if you really want to play, I don't see any reason why you can't... after we're done."

Kyle nods absentmindedly. His eyes are still fixed upon the man in between, but now he is trying to remember where he has seen that face before; it rings more than a bell but Kyle is unable to join it with a name. If anything, he has never been good at keeping track of names. "Whatever," he finally says after a moment of silence. "But first of all, I want to clarify some points." He stretches out a hand, finger erected. "I am not a suitable candidate. I came here to do a favor to Pete, nothing else."

"Then why are you so interested in playing?" the guy in the middle asks. "If you deem yourself unsuitable, why bother coming here?"

"I've woken up at six in the morning," Kyle feels the need to explain, for not even he can find logic in his words. "I want to do something so I won't feel like I've lost precious sleeping time."

"Good. And why are you not the best option? It's not usual that people talk themselves so lowly of themselves during an audition."

Kyle feels the need to laugh, he even has that bubbling guffaw building up inside of him, but he doesn't dare to let it loose. Instead he simply shrugs and awaits the next question.

"I assume you know who you are auditioning for, right?" the blond questions although it sounds more like a statement. Kyle shakes his head no. "No?" There is an edge of incredulity in his voice. "Haven't you recognized him?" The guy at Kyle's right points to the man in the middle, looking completely taken aback.

"No," Kyle answers truthfully. "Should I? Because your face rings a bell, but that's all."

"My face rings a bell," the guy seems to find the whole situation amusing. "Kid, have you ever watched _American Idol_?"

"Just a couple of times," Kyle admits. "It's scheduled at the same time as my son's bath, so I have been able to watch only the first episodes. Why?"

The three men in front of him are torn between bewilderment and amusement. The guy in the middle is the first one to speak what is on everyone's minds. "Your son? How old are you, then? You don't look older than eighteen."

"I'm on the brink of turning twenty–one next February," he confesses. "That's all you're interested in? Then let me tell you something else before leaving," he adds without allowing the others time to order their thoughts. "I do have a son and he is the reason why I will never fit in any band. No one ever wants to put up with a drummer being a daddy." He starts to get up but his movements are cut by that voice once again, low and deep like a lullaby.

"I want to hear you play for me. We'll talk about family issues later." 

"Haven't you already heard me playing in that video?" Kyle asks almost bitterly; he has the impression that he is being mocked.

"Yeah," the guy in the middle nods. "But I want to _see_ you, if that makes sense."

It makes sense to Kyle at least; deciding he has nothing to lose, nothing to gain either, he walks to the drums and picks up the sticks. "Any request in particular?" he asks. He would usually just start playing the common audition piece but this is not a normal test so he just wants reassurance that he is getting it right.

"Can you follow a guitar lead?" the blond demands. Kyle repressed the derisive snort fighting to get loose from his throat.

"I don't know what kind of video Peter sent to you, but it was the wrong one if you still have doubts about that."

"Okay, snarky boy," there is that voice again; Kyle wants only to lay back and be rocked by its musicality. "Prove us wrong. I say you can't."

"Me too." 

"Take it easy on the poor boy, guys," the boy at the left intervenes. He looks only a couple of years older than Kyle. "No need to scare him."

"I'm not scared," Kyle defends himself bravely even though deep inside he is terrified of not being good enough, not even for the crazed musicians who hold weird auditions that consist on the aspirant talking and talking instead of showing off their talent. Kyle wonders how many of the other drummers actually have got to make it past the initial banter. "It takes much more than a bully and his cohorts to send me off screaming."

"Good to know that, Kyle. Do you mind me calling you Kyle?"

He thinks that if the guy in the middle keeps using that tone to address him, he can call Kyle whatever name he comes up with. "Not at all," he forces himself to say. "It's my name after all."

"So, Kyle, Neal here is going to start playing a tune and you have to follow it. It's pretty known, so you shouldn't have trouble."

The blond man steps up near the drum set and picks up a guitar Kyle hasn't seen before, hidden in the half shadows reigning in the venue. He starts playing the typical drum audition song, guitar style; Kyle stares at him agape for a few seconds before reacting and he bangs the cymbals with more force than necessary. He knows it takes a genius to have that tune mastered on a guitar. However, he promptly forgets about geniuses as the music sweeps him off his feet and traps him into a kaleidoscope of feelings. He forgets that he can't do this, not if Hayden's future depends on him, he just lets go of himself and jumps head first into the ocean of sound surrounding him. He is barely aware of the conscious changes the guitarist makes, he follows on instinct as his fingers move on their own accord, his body swaying in tune with the rhythm until there is nothing else in the whole universe but him and the music around him, and he plays, and plays, and plays incessantly and he only stops when his wrists start complaining. He puts the sticks down after a final bang that follows the last guitar note but doesn't open his eyes. He can't face them, not now, not _ever_ , not when he knows that they won't look past the fact that he has a little devil waiting at home, they won't take into account his talent over his issues. He pants slightly. The guy with the auburn hair looks completely taken aback, mouth open and eyes wide, staring as if he couldn't quite grasp what has just happened.

"That was..."

"Wow."

The only one who doesn't speak is he guitarist; he just ambles until he is next to Kyle and pats him on the back.

"I..." the guy with the voice capable of shaking Kyle's world seems at a loss for words."Uhm. I guess it's pretty accurate to say that, by telling you that we will call you, I mean it, right, guys?"

Kyle feels hope and fear rising at an equal pace inside of him. It figures he would get the only job he can't really have, with a band of people whose names he ignores, playing the drums across the country. He shakes his head. "I told you I can't take this, even if you offered the world. I have a son," he repeats, defeated.

"Oh, right, your son," the same guy keeps on, undeterred. "How old is he?"

"Twenty–seven months. He's really, really little. I can't leave him to live some silly dream of youth." He knows he is sounding whiny without purpose but he can't help it. When he promised Nicole that he would take care of their baby, he had agreed to a lot of things that he hadn't been aware of just then – he had sold his soul and after so much time he isn't sure he wants it back. "So thank you for the chance but–––"

"The tour doesn't start until February. There is plenty of time to find a babysitter," the blond pipes in, clearly amused by the whole conversation.

"It's clear that you don't want to understand. No one would ever organize a tour with a child in mind and I'm not leaving him with my mother for months and months. I want my son to know his father," Kyle sighs. "Again, thanks for the chance." He turns to leave but he is stopped by that voice again.

"I want you in this band, Kyle. And I will find a way to convince not only you, but the execs as well, that we can make it work. Just don't tell me no just yet. Please."

"I don't even know your name," he finally concedes, his back still to them.

"David. David Cook. I... I won _American Idol_." The guy sounds insecure, almost as if he still doesn't believe it happened to him. Kyle recalls some of the episodes, mainly from the first part of the season; his mother enjoys living through others' dreams and she is addicted to every reality show airing. Around Hollywood week, however, Kyle's shifts got messed up and he started rotating between working the nights and the mornings, and whenever he was at home all he wanted to do was sleep and spend his little awake time with his son. Nevertheless, his memory is still good but he doesn't remember David Cook looking like this – the David Cook he recalls is a gruffly rocker with horrid vests and an even worse sense of humor. This guy has nothing to do with him, though the voice pulls at Kyle in the same way Cook's had when he still watched the show from time to time.

"What do you want me to say?" he questions. "Seems you're not giving me many options, using the celebrity card." 

"Then say yes," the blond man suggests. "Otherwise we will never hear the end of this, until he manages to either convince you or tire the execs."

Kyle has to laugh at that. "Funny, your friend," he snickers. It is easy to fall into their constant bickering without feeling an outsider; Kyle even thinks fleetingly that they consider him one of them, and he hasn't been a part of something bigger in so long that the portion of his soul that has yet to quiet down yearns for him to just accept the offer and live a little.

"His name's Neal," David introduced the blond guy. "And this is Andy," the dark haired man tips his forehead and smiles. "You still have to meet Joey, the bass player."

Kyle alternates between looking at David and at the others. He is trying to decide, to find that balance in his life; the three are staring at him earnestly. He makes a decision without thinking any longer. If he errs, he can always go back; he has to make that clear, though. He grins.

"Yes."

The whooping can be heard even from the outside. 

He parts with a much lighter heart than he came in with, and it only gets better when he sees how the two or three remaining aspirants are told to go back home because the post has already been filled. His smile widens as he walks back to his car whistling a happy tune. It is almost eleven thirty when he makes it home to a noisy kitchen; from the outside he can hear Hayden babbling about having pancakes for lunch, and his own mother chuckling along but steadily refusing to cook anything else but the yummy soup she is going to feed Hayden herself if he doesn't stop asking for breakfast food. Kyle leaves his car keys and his house keys in the plate by the door before strolling to the kitchen. When his mother watches him stepping into the sunny room, she smiles. "I take it that it went well?"

"They want me," he grins as he takes a seat besides his son. "They even said that they would find a solution so Hayden can travel with us."

"Didn't you say you wouldn't make your son grow up in a tour bus?" He looks up at his mother at her words, but her tone is light and her eyes are bright. He knows she is as supportive as a mother can be. "I guess I should start packing Hayden's stuff, then."

"Not so fast, Mom," he stops her. "The tour doesn't start until February. I don't think they'd need me before that. Anyway, they said they'd call me."

"And does this band have a name?" she questions while she expertly poured some soup in Hayden's bowl. "You haven't told me."

Kyle sighs. David Cook never was his mother's favorite – she always declared herself a David Archuleta supporter – and she had been really upset when the kid hadn't got the crown, or something of the like, Kyle can't know for sure since he has only heard talk about it. "Mom," he begins, ready for the blow. "It's for David Cook and his band. They need a drummer."

His mother shakes her head, smiling. "You are always aspiring for the best, just like your father. Will they call you soon?"

He doesn't know and so he tells his mother, but right when he is about to swallow the first spoonful of the trademarked Peek homemade soup his cell phone rings in his back pocket. Hayden babbles something about being at the table, surely learned from his grandmother, but Kyle picks it up nevertheless; it could be important. "Kyle Peek."

"Hey, Kyle, David Cook here," says the voice that has charmed him. "Can you talk?"

"For sure," he accepts, pushing his plate away.

"We have found a solution, if you still want to play with us."

"I want to," he assures. "I just don't think it will be possible."

"We're hiring a female tour coordinator to start working in February. We'll pay her to look after him when you can't. Good enough? I thought you already had a babysitter for the time being."

"Well, I live with my mother, she can take care of Hayden in very punctual cases. But until February I think I can manage, if you send me the rehearsal schedule; I can work a timetable with her."

The laughter at the other end of the line startles Kyle. "I suppose Hayden is your son. But, well, the shows we have to attend will be a little demanding, time wise. Next week we have to be in Hollywood, and I'd like you to be comfortable with the songs before throwing you to the masses."

"Shows?" Kyle frowns in confusion. "Care to explain it? I thought you were searching for a drummer for the tour."

"You really weren't lying when you said you knew next to nothing about me... I have like, ten TV appearances and a couple of gigs planned before December. I don't even know the exact number, I lost count long ago. We have to promote the album that will be out in November."

Kyle holds his breath. There is no way he can do this, not when he has to learn songs from an album that isn't even on sale yet, not for the next four months, and then bring his son onto a tour across the country. He glances at his mother, who is eyeing him with worry etched in her features. He opens his mouth to politely inform David that he won't be able to join them in this adventure but his mother is quicker and snatches his phone from his bare hands. "Hello?" she asks. "This is Lynne Peek, Kyle's mother. He will do it," she assures David. Kyle can't hear David's reply but he can imagine it as his mother giggles like a schoolgirl. "Oh, no, please call me Lynne. Ms Peek makes me feel old."

Kyle wants to know how his mother actually knew he was about to let David Cook down as politely as possible. But he doesn't ask, out of habit, because he is used by now to his mother practically reading his mind.

"We will manage," she is saying. "Oh, yes, he can be a bit stubborn, but his main concern is always his son, you have to understand." There is a pause, his mother listening intently. "Of course. Thanks for being so understanding, David. I'll pass you to him now." She offers him his own cell phone which he takes in a heartbeat, eyeing her with surprise and disbelief written in every wrinkle of his frowning forehead. He hesitates for a second before actually lifting the device to his ear.

"Kyle? You there, man?"

"Yeah, sure," he replies, rubbing his fingertips along his temple. "I'm still getting used to my mother accepting a job for me."

"Your mother is cool," David is smiling and Kyle can hear it in his voice, in the curly edge of his accent. Kyle could get lost in his voice, willingly, undoubtedly; sometimes he even scares himself. "So, you're in, then."

"Seems I don't really have much of an option here. Just tell me when and where I am supposed to be, and I'll be there. Just don't tell me a couple of hours before the actual date, or I won't be able to find anyone to look after Hayden in case my mother can't."

They talk for a while after that, small talk about petty details like schedules, rehearsals and music sheets for drummers. When he hangs up, Kyle can't hide the big grin spreading in his face.


	5. in between the hopes and the dreams

He stares at the big building erected in front of him. The house is wider and taller than he had expected, given what his mother has told him about its owner. He glances at the address written in the paper he is holding in his hand to make sure he is not mistaken. His mother has said that the house was built under some execs' directions and therefore it showsthe pride of the record label. The owner, a guy born and brought up in the Midwest, always wanted something smaller but no one listened to him. Kyle wonders how well he knew that guy before the accident, to have told his mother so many details – the pictures he has seen show what looks like a deep friendship; just by staring at them he feels the void in his heart disappear a little but it is not enough, and he wants answers but no one is giving him any. His mother has sat with him in their kitchen and has told him about his big year, the chance he jumped on when given, the trip he embarked in with his son. It is not by any means what he wants to hear, there are so many things he doesn't understand; his mother has given him this address in the hopes that Georgia will be spending the night here and not in a random hotel room somewhere downtown, because if anyone, his mother has said, that girl holds all the answers Kyle needs to hear. 

The four–story house glares back at him when he looks up, unable to figure how to get the open. He is alone, having left Hayden with his mother, so there is no witness to his lack of skill. There is a buzzer at his left with only a button so he presses it, awaiting the metallic voice to appear and tell him off. To his surprise, the door buzzes open without warning so he steps inside before whoever is inside decides he has no right to visit and closes the gate against his nose. The walk up to the house seems to stretch eternally until he reaches the front door. He wonders briefly how anyone can live in this golden cage that reminds him of Malfoy Manor from the books he used to read when he was younger. The door is open; he breathes in deeply and crosses the threshold valiantly. There is a whiteness in the walls that speaks of novelty, a telltale sign that no one lives here on a daily basis. Questions pop in his head as he searches for the only living being he is sure is hidden somewhere. 

"Kyle," he hears coming from his left and he turns that way, finding a path to a living room painted as white as the rest of the aseptic house. 

"This is not a home," he states, instead of greeting her when he enters the room where Georgia is standing, tall and slender, her black clothes strangely shining against the pristine walls. "Everything is so white, it seems like a hospital." 

"Dave thinks that too," she smiles, her eyes bright and wide. "Though I don't think you remember knowing that." 

"You're right, I don't," he sighs. "That's why I am here. I need answers." 

"I am not the most appropriate person to help you," she warns. "I only know a part of this story, the part we outsiders could see, and the part where Dave is left to fend for himself in the wake of your amnesia." 

"I don't even know who Dave is," he confesses. "I've seen pictures, you and those guys that were with you when I woke up, but they're a bunch of strangers, you are a stranger too and I feel stupid just being here but it feels oddly right, you know? As if I belonged here." 

She smiles fondly again. "That's because you _do_ belong here, Kyle. It's just that you don't remember yet, but once you do, everything will make sense again." She motions for him to sit down on a white couch; he grimaces because of the paleness of the white room but she shakes her head. "Don't worry about ruining the couch. Dublin has played here more times that I can count." 

"Dublin?" he asks, frowning. The name rings a bell, maybe because Hayden has spoken it more than once, while he babbles about a time Kyle can't remember. "Is that a...?" 

"Dog," she supplies. "A Scottie. Wait, I'll show you a picture." She fishes in her purse that has been sitting next to her on the floor; he faintly remembers his mother saying that a woman's purse can never be set on the ground for some odd superstition. She takes out a long strap of pictures and peruses though it till she finds what she is looking for. She hands the strap to him so he picks it and looks down. He gasps. 

There he is, holding Hayden with just one hand, his picture self with longer hair and the shadow of what looks like a beard. They both are at the right end of the frame; at the left, a black Scottie is reaching out to the child. The dog is held by a strong pair of hands, long fingers that talk of years of work; Kyle is assaulted by a memory, sudden and traitorous, a memory of those same fingers adoringly caressing patches of skin, of his own skin. He shivers. 

When he looks up again, her eyes are fixed on a spot behind his head. "Georgia," he calls. She jumps a little and comes back to their shared reality. 

"Sorry." 

"Where were you, if I may ask?" he demands softly. 

"I was... remembering," she admits. "The day I took that picture, Hayden had been playing with Dublin for the longest time. That is the moment when you pried him away from the door to make sure he washed his hands before dinner." 

"A tour is not the best place to raise a child," Kyle mutters, holding the picture up. "But it's the only home my son knows. He isn't happy at my mother's, he doesn't sleep well and neither do I. I just don't know what else to do." 

"Your mother sent you here," Georgia says, doubt clouding her statement. "Didn't she tell you anything?" 

"She showed me a drum set, and a wall full of pictures," he confesses. "She said that was my life before the accident; maybe she is right but I don't remember. All I know is that I am not happy, and that my nightmares have been growing more insistent lately." 

Georgia seems shocked at his words. She lifts a hand to stop him and after a while she speaks again. "Nightmares?" 

"Yes, bad dreams." 

"How... how are they?" she chokes out. He stares at her, surprised to find tears glistening in her eyes. "Do you remember?" 

"Yeah," he blinks. "There are some blurry details, but I always see hands, hands that reach out and try to... to... I think they try to curl around my neck and choke me." 

She shakes her head. One tear rolls down her cheek before she can dry it out. "Kyle," she whispers. "They are not nightmares. They are memories." 

"Memories?" he exclaims. "Are you saying that someone tried to kill me?" 

"No," she manages to say, subdued. "You... those hands... They are Dave's hands. He has been having the same dreams, he tries to catch you but you keep falling through that glass, slipping through his fingers and he can't save you." 

"What... what are you talking about?" 

She looks straight into his eyes before speaking once again, her voice steady even though she is openly crying now. "You and Dave were fighting when the bus skidded. You lost your feet and Dave lunged forward to catch you. You slipped away and he fell on his left wrist, spraining it. He couldn't play for a month." 

"And me?" he asked. "What happened to me?" 

"You fell straight through a window, Kyle. We all saw you... bleeding on that road... You died, Kyle, and then you came back to life but you didn't remember... When you didn't... remember him... Kyle, Dave died with you that day, and he hasn't started living again ever since."


	6. forever always means the addition of two

There are nights when Kyle can't make it to dinner, and although at first his mother had shrugged it off, Kyle knows it bothers her more than she will ever admit. He can do nothing to prevent it, though, because some days the rehearsals stretch in time and he can't escape; others, he just manages to talk himself out of going out with the boys and have a beer or two – he is underaged, after all, even if it hasn't been an obstacle before, and then he knows he has a responsibility to tend to waiting for him at home. Weeks pass, days come and go, until he realizes he can't keep on this insane schedule; he has performed for Jimmy Kimmel in New York, two days and two nights missing his son like crazy, but it isn't until they are relaxing during the filming of the AOL sessions that it hits him fully – he can't stop gushing about his son, showing off pictures and drawings and even a video of Hayden's first steps, when Joey points it out for him.

"Man, it's past time you brought your kid along!"

"Hey, it's true!" Andy coos, always ready to play with children – Kyle guesses Andy wants to have a big family of his own sometime, preferably with Jennye. "You couldn't stop saying that you wouldn't spend long periods of time apart from him, but you haven't brought him to any rehearsals!"

"Who are you now, Dave?" Neal protests, getting up from the comfy couch in the green room and taking out a cigarette. "I haven't heard you use so many words in a sentence like, _ever_."

Everyone laughs heartily. Andy frowns at the mockery, but it only lasts him a few seconds until he too bursts into a fit of laughter. David enters the room just then, finding his band dissolved in giggles; he lifts one eyebrow but doesn't question before joining in the contagious happiness. After a while, Kyle has to stop, short of breath and already red from the efforts of laughing, bracing himself. "Let's do something together, something that isn't music, and I'll take Hayden with me."

"I'm so not going to a children's park," Neal warns, pointing at him with his cigarette. "Don't you even think about it."

"So this is about you finally introducing us to your son, huh?" David says, flopping right where Neal was sitting a moment before. "Have you decided if we're suitable for your son to be around us?"

There is something in that voice that still calls to Kyle, a shade of something indescribable turning his insides whenever he hears the tinge of utter vitality in it. "You will always be a bad influence," he replies, not missing a beat. Even though he has been the last one to join the band, he has gotten along with everyone quite easily – Joey is his brother in arms, the other outsider in the unnamed band, the goof always ready for a good laugh; Andy is the former baby, the younger of them all until Kyle came along, the most reasonable and easiest to talk to; it has taken him time to figure Neal out, but now he knows that the smoking guitarist would kill and die for his friends and his family; and David is the leader although it doesn't feel like it, being accessible and friendly with everyone. 

Kyle knows there is a lot that attracts him to David but he doesn't want to think about it, he doesn't want to reflect on the reasons why he is drawn to David like that – he hasn't had time to dwell on his own feelings, he hasn't been an average teenager questioning everything about everyone, including himself. He has had to work hard while the rest of his classmates enjoyed the perks of being college students, he has had to take care of another life when he was almost as dependable as the little bundle of clothes he brought home a couple of days after Nicole's death. He almost gave up on music, and that is the only thing he has had time to think about – the gratitude he feels toward David for getting him back in the game when he had thought the gleam and beat of the rock and roll had dimmed for him forever.

"Why, thank you," David retorts with a smile. "I think it's a great idea, I really want to meet your son! We don't have anything scheduled for this Sunday, do you think we could go to the beach?"

"If you want to be mobbed..." Andy piped in. "Plus, I don't think your PR will find it half as amusing when you suggest it to her."

"And it's November," Neal complains. "It's going to be freezing."

Kyle wants to laugh, but maybe it would be highly impolite, so he just muffles his giggles behind his hand. "This isn't Tulsa!" he exclaims. "We can go to the beach the whole year round if we want to." He ignores the pointy glare thrown his way and grins at David. "If you think you can manage to get us free time without being followed around, I'll tell my mother she can have a free day." It's been a hell of a ride these past months, and with the amount of money he has been making his mother hasn't needed to work more shifts that she can take so she has been taking care of Hayden twenty–four seven, but Kyle has the feeling he is missing on more than he can afford, and he doesn't want to be the kind of father who is always absent. He already warned David of that during his interview; now he wants to act on his own decisions.

"Great!" David cheers, dancing around. He has overlooked his band's reaction to his plan; Kyle finds him adorably cute when he lets himself be just another normal twenty–something guy. "Now, let's get this done, okay? I want to go home at a reasonable hour tonight."

Sunday doesn't come too soon for Kyle. His mother has been overly happy for him having both time to spend with his son and friends to hang out with – what she hasn't said is the only words Kyle has heard, how wonderful it is that he has friends who accept Hayden and are willing to be around him without being freaked out by the existence of a child that had become the most beautiful regret of Kyle's life. It's not that he regrets ever having him – Kyle is not that much of a douche bag – it's more like he wasn't ready to take care of a baby when he was barely able to stand on his own two feet. So when the clock wakes him up at eight thirty on a Sunday, he rolls out of bed eagerly and gets dressed without complaining before going to wake his son. It takes him a while until Hayden is coherent enough, but it doesn't stop him – he is used to dressing his son while the kid is still asleep. Kyle searches for his mother in the kitchen, where she is cooking some breakfast for them. She smiles at him when he attacks his bacon as he feeds Hayden his oatmeal. "You seem happy, Kyle," she points out with glee. "I hadn't seen you smiling so much at this hour on a Sunday in forever."

"That's because I am happy, Mom," he finds himself replying in all truthfulness. "I'm spending time with Hayden and the guys at the same time! Dave has been complaining a lot lately about not meeting Hayden, and today is our chance to prove them that I can raise a kid almost as well as I can play drums, isn't it, little man?" He pokes at his son's side, eliciting an excited squeal from Hayden.

"You talk a lot about Dave," his mother says casually as she takes the pancakes out of the fryer before they get burnt.

"He's the one who pays the bills, so yeah, I talk a lot about him." He deflects the unsaid question present in his mother's voice.

"You know what I mean, Kyle."

"No, I don't," he retorts stubbornly. "Care to enlighten me?"

She sighs without turning around, one eye on the fire and the other out of the window, staring into space. "It was a surprise for me when you got Nicole hooked up, to be honest." He tried to interrupt, but even with her head turned away from him she can sense him and raises a hand to silence him. "I would have expected it from your brother, but never from you, Kyle. You always were... not the kind of guy to date girls."

"What do you mean?" he demands almost aggressively. "I am shy, but I... What exactly do you mean?"

"Kyle, it's not a bad thing not to like girls." His mother is making less and less sense, and suddenly he isn't awake enough to live through this conversation, but his mother isn't ready to give up yet. "What I'm trying to say, Kyle, is that I can sense that you like David, and it's okay. It may not be common, with Hayden and everything, but it isn't unheard of. I love you, Kyle, no matter who you love."

"You are definitively crazy," he states, biting his bacon from his fork. "I don't know what you're talking about," he continues, mouth full of food and the taste of an unvoiced lie bitter in his tongue.

"I think you do, but you're too scared or too blind to find it in yourself."

Kyle doesn't want to reply to that, though his reasons why remain in the dark, even for him. His mother, however, doesn't let go of the topic so soon and she charges against him again, taking advantage of the fact that Hayden is obliviously watching his favorite cartoons on TV. "Kyle, you never brought any girlfriends home, not even Nicole; I knew you were dating her 'cause you told me, but I hadn't met her until that day. You always talked about your friends, _male_ friends, so fondly that I thought some of them might actually be more than just mere _friends_."

"What are you implying, that I'm... I'm..." He can't help himself but he is also unable to say the word, for then it will be real, the feeling in his gut whenever he hears that voice – he has convinced everyone, including himself, that he had always had a weakness for deep, rich voices made for singing – or the somersaults his heart has taken to making whenever David is within touching distance. He doesn't think he is ready to admit that what he has felt, so strongly, so thoroughly, for some of his friends, for that drummer who taught him all he knows but who left him when it was still too early, all those feelings could have been more than mere admiration. His mother, on the contrary, seems to have set herself the goal of making him embrace this new side of him that isn't really that new – it has always been there, he has just never wanted to dig in what he felt deep inside.

"I'm not implying anything, sweetie. I'm just stating what I see, and what I see is that you can't stop gushing about David."

"Whatever," he mutters, cutting a pancake and feeding Hayden with a little bit. "The guys will arrive any minute; we better get started here if they're going to pick us up."

"Oh, no, Kyle," his mother stops him. "I'm so not going to be the unwelcoming housewife who doesn't offer breakfast to her visitors, so they better come inside."

Kyle shakes his head in disbelief but laughs nonetheless; it's so his mother to want to mother hen even the people who weren't her family, but then again she hasn't had the pleasure of tending her sons' friends in so long – Josh is attending college in Texas, and Kyle himself hasn't had much time to socialize between working, taking care of Hayden and practicing with his old drum set. The doorbell rings in that instant, interrupting the witty reply he was about to shoot; he gets up gingerly to answer it, not before wiping Hayden's mouth with a cloth. The boys, with David grinning at him from his height, greet him with waving hands and soft words. Kyle invites them to come inside, informing them that his mother has insisted in gifting them with the other Peek trademarked trait – the welcoming side of the family. David shares a look with his friends and after a split second hesitation they all head inside, straight to the kitchen. Kyle's mother is already taking a new set of pancakes out of the fryer while Hayden wings around in his baby seat. David, who has led the expedition right behind Kyle, stops kind of shyly before crossing the door. "Come in, boys," Kyle's mother invites.

"Thanks, Ms Peek," David says in a low voice. Kyle rolls his eyes – he can't believe that the man who has fought tooth and nail for his right to make his own music is now blushing under his mother's gaze.

"Nonsense. And it's Lynne, remember?" she smiles. "You must be David. Kyle talks a lot about you."

"Mom," Kyle warns, though she chooses to ignore him.

"Sit down, I’ve prepared breakfast for all of you," she keeps on. Neal lets out a laugh that Andy echoes, but it's Joey who sits down first, right beside Hayden. The kid blushes when the curly haired man smiles at him, greeting him politely followed by Andy and Neal who say a simple and awkward _hi_ , and he hides underneath the table. Kyle thinks he has to excuse his son's behavior – after all, it is his task to up bring a well–mannered child – but David saves the day kneeling in front of the kitchen table and reaching out for Hayden.

"Hey, little man," he calls merrily. "I've seen a pancake with your name on it."

"You don't know my name," Hayden mutters in his childish language.

"Aren't you Hayden?" David asks feigning innocence. "Because there is a pancake with that name on it and it's screaming _eat me, eat me_ really loud."

"Pancakes don't talk," Hayden sticks out his tongue and from his spot, all crunched to level the table and have an eye on his son, Kyle can tell the kid is marvelling at David's intelligence.

"Are you sure?" David winks his right eye and stands up. Hayden runs out from underneath the table in cue. Kyle shakes his head with a soft lopsided smile at David. When they both look around, Neal is in the middle of attacking a piece of bacon while Joey munches on toast and Andy is trying unsuccessfully to sneak a hand in Neal's plate. "Well, guys, we better get going or we'll be late!"

Neal almost chokes on his second breakfast. "Who are you going to meet today? The sand? Because I thought we didn't have anything to do today except running after Kyle's spawn."

Kyle would have protested at those words hadn't it been for Neal's telling smirk. David shakes his head. "Stop that, the kid's still here! And well, let's say that I wanted you to meet the new tour coordinator and she is already in town so well..."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you are nervous, Davey," Andy jokes.

"That's because I am nervous!" David confesses. "Georgia is a very special woman, you'll see, and I want you all to get along since she'll be living with us from now on."

Neal makes a guttural noise but stands up. "Everything was delicious, Ms Peek," he thanks; Kyle notices his mother doesn't correct Neal, out of surprise that he is able to speak without snarling or out of boredom, Kyle can't tell.

"Anytime, boys."

Kyle manages to take them out of the house and into the van, Hayden on his hip, before his mother can offer to pack some sandwiches for them all – he loves his mother but he doesn't need her to incessantly point out his inability to act like an adult. Andy is the driver this time, with Neal in the passenger seat; Kyle spends the trip attempting to talk his son out of his own shirt where the kid has hidden his face and refuses to look up from the fabric. At his right, Joey is looking out the car window, lost in his own world as always; at his left, David helps him to convince Hayden of the need to enjoy the beauty of the beach. Kyle realizes that David has skill with children; he assumes David has spent time around his niece and nephew and that is why he can take care of Hayden.

"Your son is adorable," David says brightly. "A bit shy, but he won't act like that when he gets to know us."

"It always takes him some time to grow used to strangers," Kyle explains, nuzzling with his nose his son's neck. "Believe me, you don't want to be around him when he decides you are his new best friend."

"I wouldn't mind that," David mutters. Kyle snaps his head up to find the lead singer really close to him. There is a moment of tension between them; Kyle suddenly forgets how to breathe but it doesn't seem to be important now that he can swim in those green eyes. "I wouldn't mind that at all."

"Me either," Kyle whispers back. He gets lost in David's gaze; there is nothing now separating them but a thin thread of air and the presence of Hayden heavy and still on Kyle's hip. The car comes to a stop right then, and Andy announces happily that they have reached their destination. Kyle takes a sharp intake of breath that burns in his lungs but moves nonetheless when Joey jumps out of the van. David exits the vehicle through the other door, slamming it shut with more force than is needed; he startles Neal who looks over his shoulder and shoots him a piercing look. "You okay, heartthrob?" he asks with his brow arched in a silent question that David doesn't really answer. Kyle notices how the lead singer offers Andy the silent treatment, something that lingers throughout the day although David attempts to cover it and Andy tries to ignore it. The five of them walk leisurely to the sea, over the soft sand that threatens to sweep into their shoes, until the shore where a lonely girl is soaking her bare toes. Her long blond hair curls in the humid ambience, tufts of stray hair wetting her back. David smiles widely despite his evident disgust and calls out loud, "Georgia!" The girl by the shore turns around and Kyle is taken aback by the bluest eyes he has ever seen – and he lives with his own son on a daily basis although lately he kind of has missed a couple or three nightly baths.

"David," she greets when they reach her, never raising her voice. "I suppose these are your guys."

"You're right, as always," David has yet to stop smiling; Kyle feels a small tinge of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, but he discards it with a dismissive wave. Hayden is peeking up from his father's shirt, right into Georgia's eyes. "These are Andy and Neal, my best friends and now part of my band," David introduces them, pointing at his friends one by one. "And these are Joey, the bassist with the biggest sense of humor you will ever meet, and Kyle, my, uhm, our... our drummer." Kyle can't help but notice how he doesn't deserve not even the smallest of good natured snarkiness after a bit of hesitation. He wants to shrug it off, but the bite is still fresh and a loud voice in his mind tells him he is not good enough – that he will never be. "And the bundle on Kyle's arms is Hayden, the sunshine of his life," David adds jokingly but it is not enough, not now. Neal takes advantage of that last line to add a new mockery to the situation.

"I'm sure he had the time of his life while... making this sunshine," Neal laughs, and the chorus of giggles at his back tells Kyle that everyone is having fun at his expense – and what is worse, while Hayden and his everlasting period of questions are around.

"Dad, what does he mean?" Hayden asks, as expected. Kyle sighs.

"Thanks, Neal," he says, bitter sweetness and annoyance equal in his voice. "Now I won't hear the end of this."

Georgia snorts. "As usual, you manage to make the most of any situation, don't you? I'm Georgia, by the way," she introduces herself. Kyle smiles politely at her even though all he wants to do is strangle Neal. The group sits down while he tries to convince his son that he will understand everything when he grows up, preferably in about twenty or thirty years.

The day that has started so well, despite David's frown whenever he looks at Andy, is saved after Neal's intervention by none other than Georgia – she is like the best discovery of the century, or so it seems to Kyle, who is amazed at the ease with which she makes Hayden like her. The kid wastes no time in running after her when she suggests they play together. Kyle allows his son to run around over the sand with just one recommendation; Hayden can't get near the water – he is too little to be left alone when he still can't swim. Georgia assures him she won't let Hayden get close to the shore without being held, and they both begin a game of run and chase that amuses Hayden endlessly if his delighted laughter means anything. Kyle is giddy to see his son happy, and for the first time he believes that the plan to live on tour with a child can work but the memory of David's speech from before mars his new found brightness.

"They look really happy," David points out. Kyle jumps, a little startled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You haven't scared me," Kyle explains. "I wasn't expecting anyone to talk to me, really."

"How’s that?" David asks, one eyebrow arching elegantly. Kyle curses himself; he can't resist David when he looks at him like that. Maybe his mother was right and Kyle has been lying to himself all this time.

"Oh, let's see," he pretends to be thinking. He might have just accepted his crush on David, but his bruised ego still stings. "I am not one of your best friends, and clearly I don't have a great sense of humor. So there."

"Oh." David looks uncomfortable when Kyle looks at him – they are sitting together again, but this time Kyle isn't fooled by the proximity. "That. About that... Sorry?"

"Yeah, right. You always fix every fuck-up with words, don't you?"

"Listen, man, I'm sorry. I just... I didn't know what to say."

"The word nerd was speechless," Kyle sighs. "Dave, I don't... I think maybe this is not a good idea."

"What isn't?"

"It's obvious that I don't fit; I'm different and I know it. It's okay, I get it. You still have time to find another drummer before the tour. It's been nice while it lasted; I should have stuck to my guns from the beginning though." He moves to stand up.

"What the hell are you saying? You're not making any sense," David retorts. He reaches out to grab Kyle; the moment their skins touch it's like something ignites a fire inside of Kyle. He aches to kill that feeling but at the same time he relishes in it. "I've told you I'm sorry. I was telling the truth, Kyle, sometimes I don't find the right words, okay? Sometimes I fuck up because of it, and this is one of them. But you are a very important part of this band; I wouldn't have sought everywhere to find someone to take care of Hayden during the tour if you weren't. I wouldn't have fought the label for it either." Kyle dares to look down to where David is almost begging him on his knees over the sand. His heart stops for a second at the view – auburn hair sticking in every direction, sincere pleading in green eyes – before he gulps and nods swiftly. "So if you've gotten up to go fetch another drink, then it's okay. Because if you're up to leave... I don't know what... Kyle, the band needs you. I... I need you," David finishes with a soft voice that nearly gets unheard.  
Andy chooses that moment to interrupt; he falls down while trying to escape Hayden who is now chasing the guys, right beside David and Kyle. The moment is lost, but now the drummer has something to reflect on.

And he thinks, and thinks, during the rehearsals and the shows that follow that sunny day at the beach; all the while Georgia manages to fit in their routines and Hayden begins to spend more and more time with them as well. November rolls into December and before any of them can realize it David's birthday falls upon them. Georgia does her job really well and has kept them from drinking excessively, at least all the guys except for Kyle who doesn't drink any kind of alcohol; but even her tight hand around their necks relaxes sometimes and she promises not to tell if they throw a birthday party for both David and Neal four days before Christmas. Kyle is already making up excuses not to attend even before he is invited; although David has made sure Kyle doesn't feel out of place ever again, the drummer is still fighting his recently found out feelings and he knows that, for one, he can't be trusted to be around David out of work if he wants to keep breathing, and for two, that he is still the underaged weirdo with a kid, a fact that prevents him from going to any wild party in the near future. However, that doesn't seem to be an obstacle for David, who simply shrugs it off and tells Kyle to bring his child along, for even David Archuleta is about to be seen at the birthday party. "I can't assure you there won't be wild after parties," he tells Kyle three days before the party, while they are relaxing after an afternoon of practice that has tired them all. "We can find a room for you and Hayden, and you can put him to bed and come back to the fun without worrying about getting back home with an exhausted kid. Or you can stay with him and forget about the party, if you want to, that's it."

"I still don't think it's a good idea, Dave. I haven't spent a night out in forever, and never with Hayden as well. He can be a handful."

"Oh, c'mon," Neal exclaims from his spot on David's couch. "Don't try to convince us that you've always been a fine upstanding citizen, Kyle. I know how children come to this Earth, don't tell us that you didn't spend the night out back then."

What is said as a joke convulses Kyle. He never speaks about Nicole, never talks about his past or how he ended up with Hayden under his wing, and he is not about to start now. He feels it's too soon; he is not ready to face the questions that will surely arise if he ever tells his tale of past mistakes.

"Neal, you have the biggest mouth around here," Georgia admonishes him from the kitchen door where she leans in, a Coke still unopened in her right hand. "You should learn when to shut up."

"Are you going to teach me now?" Neal replies, not missing a beat.

"Wouldn't you love me to?" Georgia counters. Andy rubs his face, Joey hides beneath a cushion and David turns to glare at Neal. Kyle is almost used to the banter by now, after a month of constant bickering. Neal hasn't taken well how Georgia has forbidden him to smoke during practice and her authority meets the wall of his indifference and derisive attitude with so much frequency that hardly a day goes away without the band having to cool down the air around them.

"I think it's _you_ who would enjoy it too much," Neal retorts.

"Enough, Neal," David intervenes. "Enough."

"You always take her side when it's obvious she tries to pick on my nerves," Neal protests.

"Are you three or twenty–five?" Georgia demands. "Even Hayden is more mature than you."

"Georgia, don't make me say it," David sighs. "God, sometimes I really wonder if I put up a band or a kindergarten."

Kyle giggles along with Andy and Joey. The air is not tense anymore, at least not like it was before. Kyle wonders how long it will take the music director and the tour coordinator to figure out that what is really hidden behind his constant bickering with David is pent up desire and the feeling that burns inside of him whenever he is near David long enough to forget that his existence depends on the precious air he usually doesn't breathe. David turns to him again. "What do you say, Kyle? Will it be a yes or an _oh yeah_?"

"And they say I've seen one too many Disney movies," Kyle mutters. "Someone better watch out how many times he has seen _Beauty and the Beast_ , please. But yes, okay, we'll both be here. You better have a room ready for us."

"You bet I will!"

Kyle is blinded by the smile David gifts him with. He tells himself that he should stop staring, but he doesn't care somehow. Love does that to people, he reasons, and then he stops dead in his mind’s tracks. He is not in love with David, he can't be; he has only loved one person like that and she died, and he sworn he would never fall again, because it's obvious he doesn't have the best of luck when it concerns affairs of the heart. Shaking his head, he calls it a day and says goodbye to everyone until the party – David has been kind enough and he has granted the band three free days. When he arrives home, forty–five minutes later driving his old car that he has refused to change even after making a small fortune playing for the yet unnamed band, he realizes he has yet to stop smiling.

The party takes place on David's actual birthday, a couple of days before Neal's. Kyle is wrapping his gifts for them when his mother bursts into the room he now shares with his son. They expect Josh to arrive sometime after lunch; Kyle hopes he will be able to see his brother before heading out for David's home with Hayden. "Kyle," his mother greets softly. "Josh has called. He says he won't make it before dinner today, and that's even wishful thinking. I've told him you won't be here until tomorrow evening, and he's said to tell you good luck."

Kyle stares at his mother puzzled. "Good luck?"

"I may have told him about you spending the night with the guys," she confesses.

"And? It's not unusual, to spend time with my friends."

"I may have told him about your crush on David as well." Her voice is barely a whisper. Kyle represses the need to snort at her; out of respect he masks his giggles as coughs.

"Oh, well, then tell him I've said thanks. I will need all the luck in the world if I want him to even allow me back in the band after he gets to see Hayden at his wildest." It is the first time he speaks the words aloud, the implicit acceptance of his feelings to someone else who isn't the reflection of his weary face in the mornings, and it feels oddly freeing. He notices his mother agape, and for a second he fears he has stepped too far. "You said it was okay, if I felt something for him?" he adds, almost as a question. "That you would love me all the same?" 

"You've finally admitted it," his mother marvels. "You sure about it?"

Kyle lets out a relieved sigh. "Nope," he admits. "But I'm willing to give it a try, even if I'm almost hundred percent sure he isn't interested not only in me but in guys in general."

"Son, believe me, the way he ogles you, he feels the same," she laughs. Kyle blushes faintly – his mother has been trying to set him up with David every time she has seen them together. Whether it was her taking Hayden to see his father in the studio or the guys stopping by to either spend their free afternoon or to pick him up to go to some TV show, Kyle's mother has always attempted to become a matchmaker in disguise; fortunately for Kyle, she was never successful. "Now, what's the plan?"

"There's no plan, Mom," he says. "I'll go there, and we'll see. I promise to tell you everything tomorrow when I get back." It doesn't sound weird to his ears, to hear himself making such promise. He is used to share everything with his mother, even before his father's death; he has survived so long thanks to that. She knows it when she waves them both goodbye; Kyle feels safer knowing she'll be there to patch up his broken heart when David states that he doesn't want to see either Kyle or Hayden after that overnight stay.

Father and son arrive before the rest of the guests, but barely a half hour before Joey and Georgia. Neal and Andy live in the mansion with David. The band and Georgia agreed to help the birthday boys with all the preparation for the party, and Kyle has brought a distraction along – he knows Hayden will begin running around in no time. He isn't deceived when he leaves his son on the floor, in the pristine living room David hates with a passion, and Hayden finds his way to the white couch to jump on it. "Hayden, no!" he exclaims. "What have I told you about jumping on couches?" He races after him, only to be stopped by a cheery laughter at his back.

"Leave him to jump, Kyle," David allows from the door. "God knows I don't mind any excuse to get rid of the monstrosity, and not even Dublin has managed to ruin it."

Kyle snorts at the mention of David's new puppy that Hayden has fallen for with the ease inherent to children.

"You shouldn't have let them choose the furniture for you," Andy pipes in, his head popping out from behind David.

"And what could he have said?" Neal joins the conversation. "The people who put this up are the people who pay your bills, Skibster."

Kyle laughs along with them, the initial nervousness forgotten once the guys start their usual banter. It helps him believe he is a normal boy, with friends to spend time with and a clean past – but the illusion lasts as long as Hayden discovers how to make noise by attacking the cushions on the couch. Kyle shakes his head and moves to get him but David beats him to it and catches Hayden in the middle of a jump; he swirls the kid around in the air, eliciting excited squeals from Hayden. "I'll take care of him," David promises. "Don't you worry, Kyle, he'll be fine."

"I'm more worried about _your_ sanity, to be honest," Kyle jokes. David dismisses him with a wave and walks out of the room with Hayden kicking out his legs and laughing delightedly.

It turns out that all the details have been taken care of, so they only have to wait for the guests to start arriving. Kyle can see David and Hayden playing in the corridors; at some point Georgia joins in the fun and before they can realize it the whole band is short of breath while Hayden dares them to chase him. When the doorbell rings for the first time, Kyle thanks the Heavens for the blessing of guests to fight back hyperactive children. However, time flies when they are having fun and too soon Hayden's bedtime comes upon them. Kyle excuses himself out of the conversation he was having with David Archuleta and Jason Castro to go search for his son, who he has seen licking a lollipop underneath one of the tables not so long ago. But now the kid is nowhere to be seen; Kyle asks everyone he finds in his search but no one knows where to find his son. Georgia points him toward the kitchen, where she swears she has seen David chasing something that wasn't Dublin in there. Kyle thanks her and runs into the kitchen before a disaster the size of Japan happens. What he witnesses when he peers from the door, though, is not the wreckage he was expecting. What he sees puts a happy smile on his face.

David is singing softly and twirling around with a wooden spatula as a microphone while Hayden swirls in circles around the singer, dancing on the kitchen tiles as if there weren't a world outside waiting for them. Kyle gasps slightly, inaudibly, as he watches David leave the spatula on a counter and scoop the kid in his arms to draw circles around the kitchen. During one of the waves they meet Kyle's gaze; David stops dead in his tracks and blushes. "Uhm," he stutters. "I... ehm..."

"It's time for Hayden to go to bed," Kyle explains in a soft voice. "I didn't mean to interrupt..."

"Oh, right, Hayden's bedtime," David's blush gets brighter. "I thought... I mean..."

"Do you want to come?" Kyle offers swiftly. "You seem to be having fun with him."

"He now seems to be asleep," David points out, looking down at the toddler napping on his chest.

"He does that a lot," Kyle hasn't stopped smiling. "He tends to fall asleep when he hears a heart beat; it's like his favorite lullaby."

"Aw," David sighs. "I bet he’s a little angel while sleeping."

"It's the only moment of the day," Kyle giggles. "Here, allow me. I’ll put him to bed."

Kyle keeps Hayden close to his heart when he retrieves him from David's arms; he doesn't want to wake the child up. David tags along, guiding them to the room they have set up for Kyle and Hayden to spend the night. Climbing up the stairs, Kyle can't help but notice David's fine figure, albeit a bit round around the edges. He bites his lower lip. The room door appears before of them sooner than Kyle would have wanted, but he can't do anything against it. David opens the door and grants Kyle access. The room has a cot and a bed, settled up together near the bathroom entrance.

"David," Kyle protests. "You bought a cot just for tonight?"

"Not exactly," David confesses. His ears are red and the blush is spreading to their edges. "I thought... that maybe Hayden and you would want to stay the night other times."

"Dave," Kyle replies, at a loss for words. "Thanks, Dave. No one had ever... You don't know how much this means to me. And to Hayden, even if he doesn't say it," he adds.

"No need to thank me," the singer smiles. "Just say you'll use it."

"I'm pretty sure we'll be using this room more than this once," Kyle reassures him. He is touched that David has thought about the very little detail to make them feel at home and wanted.

The drummer lays Hayden in the [cradle] and takes off his shoes. He can maneuver with the kid passed out; he manages to undress Hayden and put him a diaper under the pajama pants he has brought along to David's house. The child looks so much smaller lost in the cradle that Kyle wonders where time has flown to; it seems to him they it was barely yesterday when he took his son home from the hospital. When he is happy with the outcome, he turns around to find David holding a baby monitor in his right hand and a wrapped parcel in the other. "Dave?"

"I thought that maybe you'd want to be able to hear if he has any trouble while sleeping," the singer explains. "I bought it yesterday; it works through bluetooth, so you can use it like an earphone." David shows the other half of the baby speaker set that was hiding below the bigger speaker.

"You didn't have to," Kyle whispers, stretching his right hand and taking the Bluetooth device he is offered. "I hadn't thought about it..."

"What did you want to do, hide in this hole when Hayden crashed and miss all the fun?" David shakes his head. "No way, man. I wouldn't have let you."

"Thank you."

"Anytime." David shuffles in his place; Kyle notices that he is still holding the parcel.

"What's that?" he asks.

"Oh, this," David blushes again but this time he doesn't lose all the ability to form coherent sentences. "This is Santa's gift for Hayden," he explains. "You can give it to him in the morning or wait till Christmas."

Kyle blinks, surprised at this. Of course he has some Christmas gifts for the guys at home but he wouldn't have expected David to think of Hayden. "You... didn't have to," he repeats stupidly.

"But I wanted to," David offers with a smile. "It's just a small detail, nothing important."

"It's more than what I would thought you'd have got him," Kyle sighs. David waves the parcel in front of Kyle's face. The drummer reaches out to take it; in the movement he grabs David's arm instead, catching the wrist in between his slender fingers. It feels like fire sweeping through his veins in lieu of blood; Kyle shivers when David, despite the awkwardness, leans in even closer. There is no air left between them; Kyle blinks and in a second the world has turned upside down. David is practically breathing upon Kyle's nose but none of them moves; Kyle knows he is held back by the presence of his son in the same room and he suspects David's inhibitions have the same source. That doesn't stop him from drowning in green pools while day dreaming about things that he will never share with David when the older man looks at the cot and mutters, "Fuck it."

Kyle feels the movement before he can see David leaning in. He blushes to the roots of his hair just by thinking about what is going to happen, about what he isn't stopping David from doing because it's what Kyle has wanted ever since he heard that deep, rich voice back during the audition that wasn't and he swears to God that he will do anything – he will even allow Hayden to skip dinner when it involves vegetables – if he is granted this only moment in time.

David captures his lips in a soft kiss that speaks of long afternoons on a beach and late mornings lazing in bed. Kyle sighs into the kiss, opening his mouth just a fraction but that's enough for David to swipe his tongue past Kyle's teeth. The drummer takes the intrusion eagerly, reciprocating with as much energy and willingness as he is capable of gathering. There is no battle for dominance, just exploration and learning, until they both need air to prevent their lungs from exploding. Kyle is the first one to pull away, panting as if he has run the New York marathon on his own. "Wow," he stutters.

"Indeed," David grins. "I've wanted to do this for so long..."

"Have you?" Kyle demands out of surprise. "I'd never have guessed..."

"I didn't think you'd be interested in guys, let alone in someone as boring and unattractive as me."

Kyle punches him lightly on the arm at his words but he keeps his voice low for the sake of Hayden's sleep. "And here I thought it was you who didn't..."

"C'mon, Kyle, don't tell me you didn't notice how I practically couldn't take my eyes off of you. God, I even threatened to murder Andy and make it look like an accident if he kept interrupting my attempts to... uhm... kiss you."

"My mother might have told me something of the likes," Kyle admits. "About you staring at me, not about you wanting to kill Andy... Wait, you have been trying to kiss me for this long?"

"Yes?" David rubs the back of his neck as if he is ashamed; Kyle finds it enticingly attractive.  
"Dave, listen," the drummer starts. "I understand that you... Well, I have a child, I can't fool around, Dave."

"Me either," David declares. "Remember how the Kim affair ended? I'm not about to start something that may find an end soon."

Kyle sighs and shakes his head. "Even with Hayden?" he has to ask despite he hates to because he doesn't want to look like he thinks his son is an obstacle. He would kill for Hayden.

"Especially because of Hayden," David states. "Let's face it, Kyle. I'm in love with your kid, you happen to be an added bonus."

"You're impossible!"

"That's my best trait," David jokes. "Now, where were we?" he adds stepping closer in what Kyle thinks it's a very sexy way.

"I guess you were about to kiss me again," he reminds.

"Oh, yeah, that part. I can't believe I almost forgot."

They smile into each other's mouth, sharing overdue caresses and whispered promises, Hayden's gift forgotten on Kyle's bed, their hands tangled into each other's hair as if there were no tomorrow. 

No one lifts an eyebrow when they walk back in the party, thirty minutes later, hand in hand.


	7. in between the sand and the stones

Kyle is sitting on the swing in the back porch, staring blankly at the Pacific Ocean, his thoughts never calming down. His mind races a thousand miles per hour; everything he has discovered in the last couple of hours has given him enough to think about for eons. His hands are full of paper – the letter in one fist, yellowing and cranked; an old newspaper in the other, a black and white picture showing a group of people he doesn't recognize in front of the hospital he woke up in, and a headline that has gripped the deepest part of his soul and still has to let go of it.

_Rock star admitted to hospital after major accident._

The article is a succession of information that places Kyle in the bus accident. He reads about how it happened from an expert's point of view; he reads about speed and resistance and wind and danger but it isn't until the end that he finds what he has been looking for. Hidden after tons of wishes for the drummer – _him_ , his mind supplies – the journalist offers a general view of the other members' health. Kyle reads the names once and again but they're just that, faceless names that don't throw any light to his memory. Andy and Joey had been sleeping that night, it says, so when the bus turned over they only hit the roof of their respective bunks. Neal and Georgia had been near the back of the bus, suffering cuts and concussions, but nothing was grave enough to make them spend the night in the hospital. The kid, whose name is the only one the journalist doesn't write down but Kyle knows perfectly, had apparently been walking around the bus when the accident took place. The father, _Kyle_ , had crashed through a window pane and was admitted to hospital; the latest news talked about him waking up from a coma. Finally, the star of the show, David Cook, had sprained his wrist trying to save the drummer; no one had explained what they were doing or where they were when the bus skidded, and Kyle has the inkling that unless he remembers he will never know. However, the last few lines of the article stir something inside of him; he knows the newspaper had been published a week after the accident so new details had been unveiled in it, details that hadn't been known the very night of the wreck. He reads avidly, his hands shaking.

_It is rumored that David Cook will cancel his tour around the country until his drummer fully recovers from the accident, in which he seems to have taken the worst part; the last medical report talks about a deep amnesia. Different sources have informed us that the American Idol spends his days strongly sedated, and that he will be under a treatment of sedatives until his doctors deem him suitable for functioning again without them. People close to him have declared that the state of his friend and drummer has affected him to the point of wanting to end his life on several occasions in the past few days. Will we see another Hollywood rock star in rehab soon?_

Whatever David Cook had been doing the night of the accident, Kyle feels it's related to him. He closes his eyes and gets back to the first memory he keeps from his new life. He was on the hospital bed, and he felt a hand on his. He looked around and saw the picture in front of him – there was a curly haired man napping on a chair, a dark haired guy with a baby face sitting awkwardly on the floor, a blonde woman sleeping restlessly with her head over a blond man's chest that heaved up and down in an erratic breathing at the other end of the room. There was a whimpering kid crying in his sleep in a cradle by the hospital bed; Kyle couldn't see inside the cradle from his place but he couldn't bear the sound. And there was a man, auburn hair and oceanic gaze, staring at him from his spot on the edge of the bed. Kyle looked at him puzzled; he searched his mind for the words to ask who he was, but there were no letters left in his brain. He panicked; the other man made a calming and soothing sound before speaking. "It's okay," he said. "You've been asleep a lot. Take your time to wake up."

Kyle thought he was a little shaky but there were more important things to worry about like, for example, his total lack of vocabulary. The other sighed. "The doctors say you may have trouble communicating at first. It's okay if you can't speak. Do you understand me?" Kyle nodded; he could tell the other man breathed out in relief. "Do you know what happened?" Kyle shook his head. "Okay. Your son is fine, if you were worried." Kyle frowned; he didn't know what the man was talking about. "Hayden, you know?" The man took Kyle's confusion for temporary, but Kyle didn't understand anything. He kept shaking his head. "Kyle, I'm talking about your son here." More shaking; the man had his eyes full of tears. "Do you remember ever having a son?" Kyle's head hurt from all the shaking. "Do you... Do you know who I am?" There was desperation etching the words, a feeling that compelled Kyle to dive in the bottom of his soul, but he found nothing. He shook his head again.

The tears fell. And the void in his heart started to form.

There is a rustling at his back but he doesn't turn around. He knows Georgia is behind him, leaned into the wood of the door, he just doesn't want to talk to anyone right now. Georgia, on the other side, seems to be talkative and she doesn't mind being the only one speaking. "Kyle, sweetie," she starts in a soft voice. "I know this is difficult to digest."

"You don't know shit!" he replies harshly. "You don't really know how it feels to find out your life is a lie! You can't know! YOU DON'T!"

"Your life is not a lie, Kyle. You have been living without memories, but that doesn't mean it hasn't been as real as it was before."

Kyle shrugs noncommittally, still staring into the wide sea. Georgia sighs; she walks to him and flops down on the swing besides him. "Kyle," she begins again.

"Stop," he cuts her off. "I don't want to hear it."

"Okay," she concedes. "Can I at least stay here until it's time for me to go to the airport?"

"You going to catch a flight now?" he asks, pointing at the sun setting down in front of them.

"I have to get back to New York tonight before they realize I haven't been in the same state as them," Georgia explains. "They don't even know I came here."

"You must love them a lot to travel here and try to convince me of something I can't remember."

"No, Kyle; I love _you_ a lot and I love David a lot too, that's why I'm here. I'm risking my own relationship just by being here. Neal told me to stay away, to let things flow on their own."

"Neal?" Kyle frowns. "I don't know who..."

"It doesn't really matter anymore, now does it?" Georgia stands up laboriously. "I have to get going, Kyle. My red eye takes off in..." she checks her wristwatch. "... three quarters of hour. I should leave now."

She offers him the string of keys, clinking under his nose. "What?" he asks, but he cannot find enough snarkiness in himself to add it to his words.

"You can stay here for as long as you want. David wanted you to have a key of this house anyway, I'm just giving it to you now."

"You know him very thoroughly, don't you?"

"I know all of you inside out," she smiles sadly. "That's why I know you'll get around understanding and accepting what I'm telling you."

Kyle knows deep inside that she is right, that a part of him already believes her tale of his past, he is just afraid that accepting what he isn't able to remember might change the only truth he has known for the past year. "I don't know how to lock the door," he mutters. "Maybe I knew before, but now I just can't remember."

She retires her hand and puts the keys inside the pocket of her trousers. "Then you'll have to leave with me; I'll lock the house and then I'll give you a ride to your car."

"How do you know I've driven here?" Kyle wonders. She snickers.

"How else would you have gotten to Bel Air from your house? I bet the guard has made you park it outside the residential."

"Man, you scare me sometimes."

"You used to say it all the time before," Georgia remembers as he gets up and follows her inside. "There are so many things you don't know, Kyle, so many details that would change David's world, _our_ world, if you just remembered..."

"I wish I could," Kyle muses. "The doctors said I would, in time; they just didn't specify how long."

"And what are you doing meanwhile?" Georgia asks curiously.

"Technically I'm still recovering," he answers truthfully. "I'm supposed to be on a leave from a job I don't remember ever having."

"So you don't work anywhere else anymore?"

"I can't. I miss playing drums, though. That was the first thing I managed to remember."

"Oh, true," she smacks her forehead. "I had forgotten you didn't know your own name when you woke up. That broke David."

"You keep talking about him," Kyle realizes as they reach the front door. "You always talk about _their_ feelings, but you say nothing about yourself. If you love me as much as you proclaim, it has to be very hard on you as well."

Georgia doesn't answer immediately. She takes her time locking the door and making sure the alarm is on before replying, as if she has been weighing how to reply without sounding false. "Someone has to be the strong one around here, Kyle. Joey does what he can, but his jokes aren't effective anymore. Andy has given up in trying to fake that he is alright and not even Jennye can cheer him up; you and he used to be close, you know. Neal has his moments, and Dave... Well, Dave..." She looks around helplessly. "You know Jennye is Andy's girlfriend, right?"

Kyle can recognize a change of subject when he sees one, and this is the most forced change he has ever witnessed. "I didn't, but now I do. What about that Dave?" He doesn't know why it is so important, all of a sudden, to make sure David is doing fine.

"There's no point in letting you know, if you're not so keen in wanting to find out."

"I am," he assures her as they walk together to the garage Kyle has missed when he first came here. Georgia shoots him an incredulous look but she shrugs and opens that door. "I want to know, I'm just scared that what I'll find out may just destroy what I've built these past months. The doctors said I should remember on my own."

"Yet you came to me," she retorts wisely as she ambles to the last car in the room, covered with what looks like a giant dark sheet.

"My mother told me she had been keeping some things from me and that it was time for me to know. You seemed to be in the secret."

"Your past is not a secret," Georgia states as she pulls at the sheet to uncover a bright red car. Kyle blinks twice to convince himself he is not seeing things. It is an Aston Martin. "Your mother had a rough time with Hayden and you so away from her when the letters started to come."

"You know about the letters?"

"Of course," she motions for him to sit on the passenger seat as she starts the engine. "Anyone who lived in that tour bus knew. They're the reason why Dave and you were fighting in the first place."

"You never told me what happened to David," Kyle reminds her softly. They are riding now on the entrance road, close to the main door. Georgia bites her lower lip.

"I have to tell Manuel to come get the car," she mutters to herself. Kyle understands then that she is not going to answer to his questions about David; he decides to stop asking instead of wasting his breath in something that will never find a solution. He doesn't even ask who Manuel is; he supposes Manuel must be one of the servants. People who live in such mansions usually have a cook and waiters and even servants who wake them up.

Kyle remembers the face of that David guy from when he woke up in the hospital, without knowing who he was. Kyle remembers the hope in green eyes and the voice that had ignited fire in his gut, but he isn't able to place them in any other memory. He feels the prickle of tears in the back of his eyes, the smell of defeat right under his nose. The void in his heart widens and deepens as they cross the golden gates of Bel Air. Kyle's car is parked a couple hundred feet away, he can see it from his seat. He shakes his head. "What if I want to... find out?"

"You can always ask me," she offers, stopping besides his car. "Or you can find your own answers. It's never too late, Kyle, we always have time to rectify our mistakes."

He nods. He doesn't question how she knew which one was his car, assuming as always that she knows more about him that what he can fathom himself. "Thanks for the ride."

"You're welcome. I hope we meet again soon, Kyle."

"Me too, Georgia. Me too."

He watches as she takes the long avenue and gets swallowed in the traffic of the Los Angeles rush hour. Suddenly, as he touches the cold steel of his car door, a memory assaults him like a flash – he hears a crash and he feels like falling backwards, darkness engulfing him slowly as he sees green eyes desperately crying, calloused hands desperately seeking out, strained voice desperately calling out, right before he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he is back in California, in front of his car, one hand on the door and the other balling up the letter he hasn't even realized he was holding. He tears it to pieces before opening his car.

He has already decided what to do. He just needs to take a second to plan how to do it.


	8. future needs two to be broken

His birthday catches him by surprise, almost as if he had lost track of time, which happens not so unusually. The day falls on a Tuesday and Hayden is up even earlier than the few days before. Kyle shares the same room from David's birthday with his son; there isn't any safety in a cot somewhere else – besides, David actually bought it to fit the guest room which is no longer for guests – and separating them during the night was out of the question. That's why Hayden tries to wake his father at seven thirty in the only free morning they've had in the last nine days. Kyle attempts to ignore his child's antics but it is to no avail when David joins in the fun a little while later. In the end, between the two of them they get Kyle out of bed and they manage to sit him at the table in the spacious Spanish kitchen before eight. Kyle sighs; he is aware that his son and his boyfriend are unstoppable when they're together. The word tastes weird in his mouth when he pronounces it – _boyfriend_ , with all the letters, with all the implications, with all the small details that a personal relationship of that kind entails. Kyle is grateful for having allowed David in his life, he thanks his mother every day for opening his eyes to the truth of his own feelings, he thanks Peter for pointing him in the right direction of the right audition. But that doesn't necessarily mean that he is thankful for the early mornings when he could have been sleeping like a baby.

"Happy birthday, Kyle," David cheers lifting his coffee cup over Hayden's cocoa. Kyle can't help the smile spreading wide in his face. "I wanted a bit of time alone with Hayden and with you, the three of us together," he adds.

Kyle is speechless for a moment. He truly doesn't know what to say, how to express his gratitude for David.

"Happy birthday, Daddy," Hayden says right in the same moment when Kyle is reaching out to catch David's fingers. "Can I give him the present now, David?"

"Of course, little Peekaboo," David grants. Hayden stands up and runs upstairs to David's room, the first door in the long line of bedrooms where the rest of the band is still sleeping – Georgia is staying in the house by the pool, since David hadn't found it suitable for her to sleep with the boys. It had been the only thing Georgia and Neal had agreed to. Kyle thinks of the nicknames and endearment terms he has been hearing since he joined the band. In the beginning, it was him who had been given that nickname, _Peekaboo_ , for his long locks and his eyes always peeking from behind them. Then his son had inherited the name, and it had started a war of nicknames that had only ended in a blur of forgotten terms. Around the same time, Hayden had taken to call the guys _uncle_ and Georgia _auntie_ ; Kyle had allowed it because he had thought it would help the kid to feel like he was with his family, and that is what the band and its members are for Kyle – a family. However, David hadn't deserved the family term; as if Hayden could feel the special bond between his father and the lead singer, the child had distinguished David by the lack of endearment term for him.

"Dave, you didn't have to..."

"I know," he cuts Kyle. "But I wanted to. Besides, Hayden is very proud of his gift; he's done it all alone." David lifts Kyle's hand to his mouth and kisses the knuckles slowly, never averting his eyes from Kyle's gaze, until Hayden is back waving a sheet in front of him.

"Daddy, Daddy!"

"Here, little man, up here," Kyle calls his son and when the child is about to collide with him the drummer scoops him up. "What's this?"

Hayden flattens the piece of paper over the broad table; Kyle can see a childish drawing of a black bus and seven stick figures posing before the vehicle. What calls his attention, though, is not the quality of the art – as good as an almost three–year–old's drawing can be – but the letters scribbled all over the paper. Kyle reads the names of the members of the band, Joey, Andy and Neal, and then a female figure – Kyle can tell by the scattered lines where the long hair should be – labeled _Georgia_. Over them, the sky is painted blue with a big, yellow sun shining down on the figures. In the middle, Hayden has drawn himself, a smaller stick figure holding hands with two taller ones; Kyle reads _David_ and _Hayden_ , and then his own name over the figure at the right. In bright, big capital letters the message is clear near the sun – _Happy Birthday, Daddy!_ He looks up with tears in his eyes.

"I wrote it," Hayden announces proudly. "Well, David hel––– help–––"

"I helped him," David provides when it's obvious that Hayden has trouble pronouncing that verb. "I hope you don't think I've overstepped some boundaries, I thought you'd love to see how your son can write and read on his own before turning three."

Kyle stares at David agape. His mother might feel left out since she has always said that Hayden would need more help to learn to read since both Kyle and Josh had had problems with the letters and she wanted to supervise her grandson's progression. Kyle is just grateful, once again, for David. "You mean... Hayden, can you read what's written here?" he demands from his son, pointing down at the drawing. Dutifully, the kid obliges. Kyle lifts both eyebrows at the same time, making them almost disappear under his nonexistent fringe. He then points at the brick of milk; Hayden frowns but reads the brand and the motto under it. "But... how? When?" 

"Let's say that whenever you weren't looking," David concedes with an amused grin. "The guys have helped as well, keeping you distracted."

Kyle laughs at the simplicity of it, at the initiative David has taken, at what he considers a miracle. His little son, the light he had never expected to find in his life, already knows how to write not only his own name but also others'. Kyle does the only thing he finds suitable. "It's wonderful, Hayden. I love it, thank you very much."

Hayden cheers and waves his little fist in the air. Kyle laughs along, his fingers entwining with David's. They remain together, sharing their breakfast – Hayden munching on his oatmeal, Kyle and David sipping from their coffee cups and communicating through looks that speak volumes – until Georgia gets up with a smile and greets Kyle with an enthusiastic _happy birthday_. David stands up to leave room for the rest of the crowd after promising Kyle that his gift will come in time. The morning rolls on in a succession of congratulations and phone calls until midday comes after the blur half the day has been. Neal and Andy have been joking about making Kyle drink twenty–one shots on his twenty–first birthday; the drummer is sure they will keep their promise. Joey, as always, remains in a discrete second place; he has been there ever since Kyle stopped being a novelty and became a main character in the novel of their lives. What Kyle has noticed, as well, has been the glances Neal steals in Georgia's general direction whenever he thinks she's not looking. He makes a promise to himself too – the night cannot end until he has managed to leave them alone and preferably kissing. 

After the first birthday surprise, Kyle doesn't think he will have any other gifts – he has had more than enough with his child being able to write and read and he knows asking for more would be not only greedy but also stupid. He glances around at the mess the kitchen has become; their breakfast has lasted too long, and Joey has dared Hayden to some sort of game that has ended with Hayden's oatmeal all over the place. David makes the mistake of getting in the middle of a food fight that even Neal has joined at this point, despite Kyle's efforts to control his hyperactive son before he breaks something in the process of redecorating David's kitchen as if he were in an Ikea commercial. Because he isn't expecting it, the second of his birthday surprises catches him with the guard lowered when the doorbell rings. David tells him to go open while Hayden jumps along; he looks at his clothes, his pants and the white tank top, and shakes his head no. 

"Kyle," David whines. "I can't go with oatmeal all over my shirt! Please?" 

He is pleading, and the drummer can't deny anything to David when he is looking at him with those puppy eyes. Kyle gives in finally, ambling to the entrance with an hyperactive Hayden in tow, and finds his mother waiting for him. He looks at her puzzled, until she giggles and walks to him. She wishes him a happy birthday before embracing her son in a tight hug – Kyle saw her yesterday before leaving for the nightover at David's, so he is a bit taken aback by her sudden display of public affection. "Mom?" he asks with an strangled voice, a consequence of being squeezed between his mother's arms and her chest. 

"I have something for you," she says mysteriously, and separates from him to wave at something, _someone_ , at her back. Kyle glances over her shoulder and sees the only other person he hasn't expected to be there.

"Josh!" he exclaims, disentangling himself from his mother and running to his brother. "You're here! Man, how much I've missed you!"

Kyle can't see David at his back, but he can feel David's grin radiating happiness. Hayden runs to them as well, at his own, slower pace, and Josh scoops him up. "You're bigger than the last time I saw you, Hayden!" he coos. "If you keep growing up, you'll be as big as me!"

Hayden smiles and giggles under his real uncle's tickles. Kyle opens his arms and his mother joins the jungle of limbs and laughter the family has become. A little later, as if he has just realized it, he throws his head back and calls David. "Josh, I want you to meet someone," he announces. David ambles timidly to them; Kyle's mother snorts knowingly and reaches out to grab David's arm. "Mom!" Kyle says. "Dave, this is my brother, Josh. And Josh, this is David Cook, my... boyfriend." If Josh is surprised at the introduction, he doesn't show it. He looks at David's stretched out hand and shakes his head.

"C'mon. You're practically family if you're dating my brother," Josh jokes. "I hug my family."

David looks gobsmacked; Kyle knows the sensitive man under the hard mask David puts up for everyone to see is both thrilled and unsure at Josh's display of affection. "Really?" he stutters.

"Dave," Kyle's mother points at him with an erect finger. "C'mere and give me a hug."

Kyle joins the group hug when David finally jumps in without thinking. Behind them, the guys start yelling and wolf whistling until Georgia makes them quiet down with a well placed snort. When Kyle deems the family gathering finished, he steps back and introduces the rest of the band to his brother, the only one who doesn't know them personally.

David tells Kyle he of course has the rest of the day free, but that he has to be at a specific place at a specific hour. Kyle calls it a date and walks away with his family, Hayden secure on his hip. The lunch with his mother and his brother goes smoothly, but Kyle can't stop thinking about the date he has in a few hours. David has been quite clear about bringing Hayden with them – Josh can come along, but Di Piazza isn't a place for a kid, so Kyle knows he has to find a babysitter in a record time. His mother offers her services; Kyle accepts willingly though he wishes there could be a different solution so his mother can attend the party – the surprise party Kyle is sure David has prepared – as well. Lynne Peek seems to know more than she lets her son see; Kyle is convinced she would have put up more of a fight, not because she will take care of her grandson, but because her oldest son isn't going to share dinner with her in one of his most important birthdays.

Hayden enjoys his lunch consisting in many variants of his favorite dishes, and by dessert time he is pumped up in sugar but Kyle decides he can make an exception for a day and Hayden gets to savor the chocolate cake Kyle loves so much. The farewell, even if it's for a short span of time, leaves the child crying on his grandmother's shoulder and the father a wreck on his way to his date. Josh squeezes Kyle's arm and forces him to keep walking, pushing him into the cab waiting for them outside the building where they have spent the best part of the day. He wonders if his heart will always break this bad whenever he has to be apart from Hayden; the answer comes as easily as pie and wrapped up in his mother's voice, _always_.

Di Piazza is full to the brim when they get inside. Kyle looks around amazed; it's been some time since he has set foot in a club as a simple patron. Josh guides him around until they reach the base of the stage by the end of the room, the bar at their left. The band is chatting lively; even Georgia is holding a beer in her delicate fingers when the brothers greet them at their arrival. "Hey!" Andy exclaims. "The birthday boy has come!"

"Without anyone playing gooseberry and without son!" Joey choruses. "It's time for the party!"

"This is the plan," David sticks his tongue out at his group. "We're going to get you drunk and then, when you're so wasted you can't think straight, we're getting you up that stage and we're performing."

"You have to be joking," Kyle protests. "I'm so not playing while drunk."

"It's tradition to drink twenty–one shots on your twenty–first birthday," Neal explains after taking a swig from his own beer. "And you're so not playing, Peekaboo." The guitarist swings his thumb over his shoulder to the stage. "Do you see any drums up there? Nope. Because you're singing this time." 

"No way." 

"I'm in," Josh agrees. "I'll make him do it if necessary."

"Josh!" Kyle feels a bit betrayed, but David is watching him with that look in his eyes and Kyle knows that soon enough he'll be dancing at David's tune. "Georgia, are you in this too?"

"My shift ended yesterday and now I'm on my free day," she replies. Kyle understands that he is alone in his quest to keep his sanity on his birthday. David winks at him and he surrenders.

"Where's that first shot?" he finally concedes.

Thirteen drinks later, Kyle is high enough to feel amazing but not drunk enough to ignore the fact that the five of them plus Josh on a stage in a club full of potential fans is not the wisest of moves, but there is no way to stop David when he gets something in his head – Kyle prides himself in knowing the singer inside out, better than most people with the right exception of his family and his best friends. Despite all that, he attempts to fight David when he first pulls Kyle onto the stage though he is aware that David's stubbornness knows no boundaries. That's why he ends up stepping right behind Andy in front of a microphone. David is announcing something about a song they all love to play; after the first few notes, Kyle recognizes _Little Lies_ and begins singing the back vocals eagerly. The crowd becomes crazy when their voices meld; Kyle feels bold enough to walk through half the stage and into David's personal space during one of the verses. David takes it well; he pats Kyle on the arm when Kyle reaches him and lets his arm fall on David's chest. They finish the song and then Kyle realizes what he's done – he has broken the only golden rule of their relationship, which is not allowing anyone outside their inner circle know about them as a couple; they aren't sure about how David's fans might react to their idol being gay. Kyle tries to escape but there is no trapdoor on this stage so he attempts to run through the backstage until David catches his wrist and stops him. "Where are you going?" he whispers. "You still have eight more shots to drink."

"Haven't you seen what I've done out there?" Kyle mutters back. "I've practically outed us!"

"They're as drunk as we are," David reasons, his words just slurring around the final edges. "They won't remember tomorrow, and if they do, or if they film this, we can always tell the truth."

"The truth?" Kyle lifts his voice.

"Listen, Kyle." David suddenly sounds too nervous to be completely drunk off his ass. It sobers Kyle almost instantly. "I wanted this to be your true birthday gift."

"What, the performance? The manly show of drinking until passing out?" Kyle replies to the vague statement.

"No." David seems to regain some of his coolness. "I love you."

Kyle stares at him with wide eyes and mouth open; it's the first time either of them says the three words, the capital L, and it would scare him if he didn't understand the intricate consequences of what David means. He starts to say something back though he only produces spluttering and stutters until Josh appears at their back, guitar hanging from his shoulder.

"Hey, Kyle!" he calls. "Time for some action! Are you ready to play _Goodknight_?"

Before Kyle can even think of a reply, his brother sweeps him away and once again on that stage; he finally sings his only three songs, the only songs he has written himself, but his heart is not in it. His heart aches to let David know that he reciprocates his feelings. But when he steps down of the stage David is nowhere to be found. The crowd applauds him, their hands clapping in tune with the beat of his heart but he isn't hearing anything. By the end of his third performance Kyle has downed the right amount of drinks and he is ready to search for his boyfriend. He tells his brother of his plans, and Josh agrees to find a place at the bar and get plastered before going back to the hotel. Kyle starts his search frantically. He looks everywhere he can think of – in the bathroom he finds Joey and he doesn't ask what he's doing when he hears the soft moan coming from the stall the bassist is walking to; in the corridor leading outside he meets Andy talking on the phone with Jennye so he has to apply the device to his ear and listen to the girl congratulating him for a birthday that ended a couple of hours ago; pressed against the front door of the club Kyle finds what he thought he would never see, Neal all over Georgia, kissing her, nipping and tasting her skin while she kisses back willingly. Kyle walks past them silently in fear he will disturb them, his own thoughts running wildly in his mind. He will mock them in the morning, when they'll be officially a couple and he'll have found David and undone the mistake of allowing an interruption ruin the best moment of his life so far. He opens the door and there he is, under the yellowing light of a street lamp, hunched over himself as he sits on the curbside. Kyle doesn't know how to right this wrong but what he knows, deep inside, is that it will be his fault if he doesn't step closer and say something.

"Dave," he starts softly. The singer doesn't look up. Kyle sighs and sits beside him. "Dave," he repeats, still with no reply. He decides to attempt a different approach to the subject; searching into himself he finds the right words. "I love you too, David. I'm sorry we got interrupted, but I do so, too. And I thank you for organizing this. It's been the best night of my life, all because of you."

"Really?" David is still looking stubbornly at the pavement and his voice is low but Kyle can hear it.

"I hadn't partied so wildly in my life," he reassures the singer.

"No, I mean... You love me too?" What started as a statement has become a high pitched question; Kyle is hurt to think that David might doubt it.

"Yes," he nods. "I love you, you moron. I'm sorry, okay? It's been so long since I last... that I... But I love you."  
David rises his head and finds Kyle's gaze; they dance around the silence for long moments before David lungs himself to Kyle and searches for his mouth. Kyle kisses him back. He thinks of the passion he has witnessed between Neal and Georgia, finally freed, and wonders when he should tell David. After a few seconds of hesitation, while his boyfriend nips at his bottom lip impatiently, Kyle decides that that truth can wait at least till tomorrow. Tonight he needs to let go of everything and just _feel_. Swiftly, David pulls back and stands up, tugging at Kyle's sleeve to make him follow along. The drummer walks with David to a nearby hotel where the singer gives a false name and Kyle discovers that it was part of the plan all along – the declaration was the first part of the gift, David had booked a room in a hotel to spend that night alone. Together. Kyle shivers – they haven't slept together yet, in the biblical sense anyway, and he feels he needs training wheels to ride through the night since he hasn't shared a bed with anyone after the first and last night with Nicole. David takes his hand and caresses it lovingly.

"We can just sleep," he offers. "Or talk. We can do whatever you want, Kyle. I love you, and I want you to be happy and comfortable around me."

"I..." Kyle remembers telling David about his past, one lonely time when he was feeling miserable; he remembers confessing his fears and his hopes. Now that he is just not drunk enough to lose his mind Kyle guesses it's time for a decision and a change of pace. "I hope you booked the honeymoon suite."

David's face brightens at Kyle's words. "You sure?" 

"Positive," Kyle nods. He tightens his grip on David's hands that he doesn't know how he caught in between his fingers and walks to the elevators with his boyfriend.

The suite isn't the honeymoon one, but the attic sounds – and looks – even better. Kyle arches his eyebrows when he sees his small duffel bag resting against the foot of the bed. "I thought you'd want to have your things in the morning," David explains in a thread of voice. Kyle turns to him and shakes his head.

"You've thought of everything, haven't you?" he asks rhetorically. David snickers and tugs at his hand until they're both standing in the middle of the room. David closes the door with his feet and stills, watching Kyle as if he's making sure the drummer will not disappear into thin air. "This is amazing," Kyle states, letting go David's fingers and ambling to the window. The view from the flat top is too bright to be missed – the beauty of the tall buildings scratching the sky against the simplicity of the old houses scattered everywhere reminds him of the contradiction of a world that's his own, of an existence that's too fast to be grasped but too slow to be dragged on. Kyle smiles inwardly when his train of thought leads him out of his own limits. He feels strong arms surrounding his waist and the weight of a head on his left shoulder. "It's beautiful."

"Not as much as you are right now, under the moonlight," David replies, not missing a beat.

"Oh, man, you're turning cheesy on me or what?"

"Let me show you how much I’ve fallen for you" David muses; he kisses the side of Kyle's neck eliciting a shiver and a moan from the younger man. David presses his lips to the column of pale flesh once more before pulling apart and he steps back to the bed still attached to Kyle by the hip. "Let me show you how much I've fallen for you, Kyle. Let me show you how you've changed me for the better. Will you? Will you let me love you tonight?"

It feels to Kyle that David is a bit unsure about what they're about to do, but mysteriously Kyle's doubts have vanished in the thick air gathering in swirls around them. "Show me," he pleads, his voice matching David. "Show me, Dave. Show me and I'll show you how much I love you back... if you allow me to," he adds. There is not a single shadow of the insecure teenager he once was in the man that he becomes under David's touch. The singer's hands roam over Kyle's body reverently; David is muttering nonsensical sounds that fall like fresh water into Kyle's eager ears, sounds that make him feel special, sounds that convince him of his own worth to be loved. He doesn't fight back when David gently pushes him towards the bed; they step back together, Kyle's right knee pressed against David's left leg as they stumble upon the mattress. The drummer feels the sting of the bed pinching the back of his knees; he cannot move, cannot look down, can barely breathe as he is lost in green and the tiniest shadow of gold shining in amazingly deep eyes that are brimming with unshed tears. Kyle hopes they're happy ones.

David stops pushing. They haven't turned off the light of the hall; Kyle wonders if that's where the older man is headed when he separates from Kyle but the drummer is mistaken. The lamp is powerful enough to cast a dim light all over the room without stealing the romantic aura given by the silver moonlight; David is rummaging through a second duffel bag half hidden under the bed until he takes out a small package he leaves on the nightstand. "We will need it," he explains simply when he meets an inquisitive gaze. David smiles predatorily as he approaches Kyle again, but this time the drummer won't wait like a limp puppet for David to bring him to life. Kyle grins wolfishly and he leans up, clashing his mouth against David's; he catches the singer by surprise but he can tell it's a pleasant surprise, if the feeling of hardness against his hip means anything. He swallows David's protests of taking it slowly by sneaking a hand between their mashed bodies and cupping David's crotch with his fingers, skilled but inexperienced all at once.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he confesses as his hands reveal their need of moving on their own accord.

"Oh, but you're doing it so right," David whimpers, bucking up into Kyle's hand.

It is obvious, after a little while, that Kyle really doesn't have any idea as to how to continue. His experiences with guys are reduced to his own hand during the lonely nights since he hit his teen years; and his experience with girls, though successful and pleasant, is even smaller and has the power to remind him the reason why he hadn't had a date until David came along.

"Stop thinking," David commands. "Tonight is your night, Kyle. Don't over analyze everything, okay?"

Kyle nods swiftly; David grins and launches himself into the task of making Kyle feel complete and full in every pore of his skin. His hands travel Kyle's body, asking for silent permission to undress his shoulders and unbuckle his belt, until Kyle is naked against the white clarity of the bed. He thinks David has a bit of an advantage since the singer is still fully dressed, but the situation is fixed when Kyle finds the courage to pull David's shirt a bit up and unbutton his tight jeans that don't hide the roundness David has acquired during the past months; Kyle loves the softness of David's waist now that his tummy peeks over the hem of the shirts. In a matter of seconds they are both stark naked and staring appreciatively at each other. In Kyle's eyes is reflected the fear of the unknown, in David's there is just a feral look that entices a moan from inside of the drummer. David covers Kyle with his body, kissing every inch of exposed skin in a path of sloppy trails of bites and nipping. Kyle holds his breath when David nears his crotch; his fists close around the sheets of the hotel bed when David exhales on his bare skin. 

"Can I?" David asks in a voice so soft that Kyle almost misses it. He nods curtly and waits. David looks at him as if he is some sort of luxury the singer can't afford before bowing his head and engulfing Kyle in a wet heat he can barely stand. He has never been sucked –he is practically a virgin without really being one – but this feeling is overwhelming and mind blowing, and Kyle doesn't want to drown in the ocean of sensations coursing through him.

David lavishes him with attentions as he traces lines with his tongue over Kyle's skin. The drummer feels the heat pooling in his groin, strong and wild; he is glad of not being drunk enough to lose all sense of space and time – he is enjoying this too much not to be able to remember it in the morning. He tries to warn David when the pressure is too much; he pulls at his short hair but David doesn't stop. Kyle gives up and stifles a moan when he shoots right into the warm cave of David's mouth. The singer swallows eagerly – Kyle can't help thinking that it can even be considered _expertly_ – and then he crawls up again till he is covering Kyle once again. A drop of silvery white trails down from the corner of his mouth; Kyle raises a hand a wipes it with a shaky finger. Without really knowing what he is doing, he lifts the finger to his mouth and licks at it tentatively. Surprised by the salty texture, he inserts the digit in between his lips and sucks. A whimper falls from David's lips, Kyle can tell there is at least another moan stuck in that throat and he wants to tell David not to restrain himself but Kyle finds himself silenced by a kiss that deepens as David's tongue explores his mouth. Kyle arches up and he meets the leaky hardness hanging from David's crotch; he clutches the jut of David's hips and bites back a whimper. "Don't," David commands again. "I want to hear you, Kyle, I want to _feel_ you. I want... you."

Kyle frees his tongue when David pulls back from another kiss and he finally whimpers, needingly, desperately, loudly, _achingly_. David nods appreciatively and then he leans in and swallows Kyle's sounds the same way he has swallowed Kyle's semen. The drummer thinks he might go crazy before the dawn comes.

"Mmmm, Kyle," David chants. "Need you badly."

"Then come get me," Kyle retorts in what he hopes is a seductive whisper. David breathes with difficulty and shivers.

"Kyle," he moans. "How do you want to do it?"

"What do you mean?" Kyle supports his weight on one elbow and looks up curiously.

"Well, I can bottom for you," David offers with half a smile. Kyle feigns thinking about it for a whole minute, nipping at his bottom lip. He of course understands what David is talking about, he is inexperienced but not stupid, he knows what he wants and how he wants it and if this is his gift he wants it all, the complete experience.

"I want to feel you," he suggests. David opens his eyes comically wide. "I need to feel you."

"You sure?" David asks for the umpteenth time. Kyle finds his worry adorable.

"Positive," he reassures his boyfriend. David sighs again and reaches out for the bag he has taken out of his luggage. He gets a small tube and grasps it.

"That's what we'll need now," David explains. "I'll go really slowly, you can tell me to stop whenever you want me to."

"David," Kyle calls his name with almost irritation. "Do you want this?" When his boyfriend nods curtly, Kyle grins. "I want it too. Let's do it together, okay?"

It seems that's all the permission David needs. He still wants to make sure Kyle isn't uncomfortable, questioning every move, but he has descended below Kyle's waist and his fingers are probing the skin between Kyle's cock and his ass. The drummer hisses when a fingertip brushes past his hole but David yet doesn't do anything. He takes all the time he has to open the tube and spread the lubricant on his fingers; Kyle stares fixatedly, mesmerized, as David shines under the moon light. When David seems satisfied, he approaches the digit to Kyle's ass while the drummer writhes over the sheets. Kyle feels the joint of the finger entering him slowly, like a caress and a fire; David whispers that he has to relax. Kyle obliges even though when the older man inserts a second finger and starts scissoring them all he wants to do is tense up and reject the intrusion. But David keeps kissing him, worshipping his body as if it is a precious treasure, so Kyle relaxes in increments until he allows willingly up to four fingers without even noticing when his boyfriend enters the new digits. He feels the older man grinding against his thigh, Kyle thinks he can lose his mind. David deems him prepared after a while of brushing his inner walls with slick fingers; he pulls out and Kyle protests at the loss.

"Turn around," David asks of Kyle.

"But I want to see you," Kyle complains; he is shivering with a need that has nothing to do with cold.

"It can hurt even more this way on your first time," David reasons. Kyle is marveled at his ability to form coherent thoughts. "Believe me."

"I don't care," Kyle says. "I love you. I trust you. And I want to see you."

"But I don't want to hurt you."

"I'll take the pain," Kyle assures him. "But I can't do this, we can't have our first time... Not when I'm not looking at you."

David finally gives in and kisses Kyle again before sneaking his left hand between them and sliding a condom on his cock – Kyle has missed him taking it out of the bag, but by the time he comes to his senses long enough to process the information, David is already slicking his erection. Kyle stops him in the middle of the action and pleads David to let him do the task. The drummer drops some lube in his left hand and dips his fingers in it; he inhales deeply and grasps David's erection. The flesh is engorged and throbbing; Kyle trembles as he touches his boyfriend so intimately, as David spasms but repressed his own desire. Kyle knows now how hard it's been for David not to take him to bed for so long, and now he knows he is more than ready to take their relationship to the next level. When David is ready, the singer covers Kyle's hand with his own, lacing their fingers as his own right hand guides his aching cock inside Kyle.

The younger man feels fire surge through him the moment David's flesh breaches him, a fire that hurts him but gives him life at the same time. Kyle can't stop himself from meeting David's thrusts; at first they move without hurry, David has to get all the way in but he doesn't want to hurt Kyle, and with each inch Kyle burns from pain and pleasure. He doesn't really know which one he prefers, both are so engraved together in the deepest part of his soul. When David is buried inside of Kyle, after millions of whispers and kisses and caresses, the singer rests his sweaty forehead on Kyle's. "Are you okay?"

"Move," Kyle whimpers. "Move, and I'll be more than okay."

David snickers and obliges; he pushes out a fraction of an inch and pushes back in, Kyle arching up to meet his movements. Once, David brushes something inside of Kyle, something that makes him scream in pleasure. After that, Kyle doesn't remember much, only flashes of white and red exploding behind his eyelids, his cock hardening and leaking again under David's touches, and pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, until he feels like he could burst and his ears are filled with David calling his name and he himself crying out, the force of two different worlds colliding hitting him like a train.

When everything is over and he lies spent on the bed, David on top of him, Kyle wonders if the sex will always be as bright as fireworks. He bites his lip to keep the smile from forming – David is the sensitive one, after all – but it is not enough. He grins widely and hugs David closer to him. "I love you," he mutters.

"I love you too," David declares. "I'll take care of you and Hayden, I promise. I'll always take care of you."

Kyle drifts to sleep, naked and glowing under the dim light, with a light heart and a warm soul.

The first letter appears with the fan mail the day after. Kyle's head swooshes whenever he tries to shake it too roughly so at first he sees the blue envelope on top of his other letters and he doesn't pay attention to the familiar handwriting. It's not until later, when he has a clearer mind, that he stares at it with fear. It's Joseph's, he is sure. He starts to tremble; he is scared to the point that David's hand on his shoulder startles him.

"Woah, Kyle, take it easy!"

"Dave!"

"Reading fan mail?" David teases him by picking one of the letters and reading it aloud with a mocking voice. Kyle takes advantage of the fact that David is busy to hide the blue envelope to read it later. He conceals his fear under layers and layers of false smiles and forced jokes for months, memorizing the letter word by word until he can recite it by heart. The threats it entails are too dangerous to ignore them but he chooses to forget about the letter because it hurts less not knowing.

It all explodes in his hands the night they perform in West Palm Beach.

They took a couple of days off in late April; David needed to say goodbye to his older brother. Kyle hadn't even attempted to go with him to Indiana, he knew how hard it would be for David and he didn't want to add more pressure to his already worried boyfriend. Instead, he flew back to Los Angeles and enjoyed the warm weather of the California air. When they all took back their duties, David had lost twenty pounds and was pale enough to be mistaken as a vampire. Kyle saved him every night by gathering David close to his heart and allowing the beat to lull him to sleep, just like it happened with Hayden. David spent all his free hours with the kid though Kyle suspected he just wanted to cry alone. He always respected that, and he thought David respected his intimacy.

The first week of May Kyle notices David restlessly sleeping in his own bunk after slipping out of Kyle's in the middle of the night. Kyle worries about his boyfriend but he doesn't say anything. The calls from Kansas and Indiana are more and more insistent and within less and less span of time. That Saturday Kyle knows nothing is right from the moment David begins escalating the stage wildly. After the show David disappears. Kyle searches for him everywhere, but Hayden doesn't feel quite fine so he has to remain by his son's side. By the time he makes it to the tour bus in one piece and without seeing any fan, Neal cuts his pace when he has just stepped into the vehicle. "Kyle," he says, and with that one word the drummer knows nothing will ever be right again. "Adam... Adam has..." Neal chokes on himself. Kyle motions to hug him but the taller guitarist moves aside and rejects any display of affection. Kyle squeezes his arm and walks past him.

Joey is talking to Andy when Kyle reaches him, Hayden walking by his side. "Neal told me," he says briefly. "Where's Dave?" The noises coming from the back room no one uses should be a telltale, but Kyle chooses not to pay attention. His question is not meant literally.

"In a very bad place," Joey replies. He is holding Andy together as the young man tries to keep the tears at bay. "He's packing his bags and yours. And Hayden's." 

"God," Kyle swears. He knows what that means – David counts on him to go to Indiana to bury his brother. He must be destroyed. "Here, Hayden, stay here with Uncle Joey and Uncle Andy. I have to replace Auntie Georgia in there."

"Oh, no," Andy says in between stutters. "Georgia and Neal fought a while ago. She walked away and no one knows where she is now."

"God," Kyle repeats. "Okay, I'll take care of this. You go do whatever you need to do, and keep my son away from this all while I'm at that. And Andy," he adds patting the guitarist in the arm. "I'm sorry for your loss. I know you loved him like a brother."

"Thanks," Andy manages to choke out, too broken to say anything else. Kyle nods at them and winks at his son before squaring his shoulders and knocking on the door. It is a mere formality, since he is not going to wait for David to grant him access. He opens the door of the back room and breathes in deeply at the sight.

David is wildly pushing astray clothes inside a suitcase; he doesn't seem to care about how they end up being and he doesn't check the clothes are clean, so therefore everything is wrinkled and nothing fits the size of the case. "David," he says slowly. "David, I'm here."

The singer looks up; Kyle can see the wreck his beautiful face has become – the rivers of tears dirtying his cheeks, the paleness of his skin in contrast with the darkness of his eyes with pupils dilated by fear and abandonment. Kyle gulps.

"Kyle," David mutters. The drummer steps toward him and all of a sudden he has an armful of David Cook sobbing like a child under his embrace. All he can do is rock him and wait till the storm passes. Kyle slides down to the ground still holding David; he whispers comforting words in his ear and prays to God that the pain walks away soon, because he knows how hurtful it can be to lose one part of the soul, and David had given his whole self to his brother so many years ago, in a fight they both knew no one could ever win. "I feel so lost," David confesses.

"I can't tell you I understand," Kyle coos. "But I'm here for you, for whatever you want."

"You'll come with me to Terre Haute, won't you?" David begs. Kyle feels his own tears fighting to fall; he has never seen his boyfriend so small, so devastated. "I can't do this alone."

"We'll go," Kyle promises though he knows it's not the best of situations to meet his family in law, but David needs them with him and he isn't going to deceive him. "When does the red eye take off?"

"I don't know," David mutters. "I haven't booked..."

"Okay," Kyle nods. "I'll take care of it as well, but for that I'll need to get up. Can you stand it?"

David whimpers when Kyle pulls away but the younger musician has to; he never breaks contact with David, though. Kyle reaches out for a cell phone, David's, forgotten on the floor amid the explosion of clothes and shoes. He dials information and manages to book three seats in a red eye to somewhere near Terre Haute taking off in less than an hour. He doesn't catch the name of the place, he'll take care of it as well when they reach their destination. It is in one of the movements he makes to rearrange the room and turn it into a place where a tornado hasn't seemed to have passed when he commits the mistake that sends his world rocketing for the stars. The letter is poking out from his back pocket. He knows he should have burnt it when he got the chance but Kyle, being the sentimental man David has turned him into, hasn't convinced himself of the need of getting rid of the last mention of her name and her existence on Earth. David catches the envelope with his index and his middle fingers and extracts it from the pocket. When Kyle notices it, it's already too late to backpedal and invent an excuse. David is reading it.

Kyle gets ready for the hurricane that never comes. David doesn't seem to understand what he is reading, as if his eyes are just roaming over the words without really seeing them, until he reaches the bottom and the lack of signature lights a fierce fire in his almost insane gaze. "What's this?" he demands.

"Nothing you have to worry about right now," Kyle tries to calm him. "Listen, we can talk about it when we come back, okay? Right now you have more important issues to care about."

His words placate David for a while. Kyle watches as tears form again in his green eyes; this time he doesn't embrace his boyfriend. He knows David will not cry again. David hands the letter back to Kyle with a simple request to discuss it later on, and he allows the younger man to lead the way out of the back room. In the corridor, Hayden is attempting to comfort Andy, who looks even more lost than David. Kyle motions for his boyfriend to sit with them on the floor while he retrieves some of Hayden's stuff and toys. Joey shoots him a sympathetic look that Kyle reciprocates. He doesn't envy the bassist and Georgia, who have to wade through desperate times on their own. Once he has all he needs, he gets out and catches David's hand in his as he scoops his son up with his free arm. They have little time to get to the airport if they don't want to miss their flight. David follows him sheepishly, Hayden is almost asleep on his hip, which is normal given the hour. As they walk out of the bus and away from the parking lot, Kyle sees out of the corner of his eye how Georgia is kneeling on the ground holding Neal's head in her hands as the guitarist howls his pain in silence. It's then when Kyle realizes this is a disaster none of them will ever fully recover from.

They spend the night in Terre Haute, where Kyle learns to become invisible for the sake of David's sanity; he has to carry their bags and the pain of hours of flight while David dissolves in his mother's arms. Kyle keeps Hayden, who has fallen asleep during the trip, away from the curious stares; he really doesn't want to start answering probing questions. David disentangles from his mother long enough to show him the room where Hayden can sleep; Kyle spends the night wishing he smoked so sitting on the stairs in the back porch and looking at the starry sky while his boyfriend was comforted by a family he hasn't been formally introduced to didn't feel like a duty of stretching hours in silence. David gets out around five to tell Kyle that Adam wouldn't have wanted him to stop his life or at least part of it and, in the morning, after over twenty–four hours of no sleep at all, David insists in attending the race he sponsored in Washington. Kyle refuses to persuade him otherwise; he just takes another bag in one hand and Hayden in the other and follows David through three different states and back. They are sitting in a cab on their way to Adam's house before lunch.

He was right when he thought a funeral was not the best place to be introduced to his family in law. True enough, he had met Drew when they had been performing in Tulsa and in Kansas, but he had agreed back then that he and Hayden would remain in the shadows until David could tell his conservative parents and step–parents about his sexuality. And David had, but after that they hadn't had the chance to meet and only Drew knew his brother's boyfriend in person. And now, in a living room full of people dressed in black that cry loud tears and munch as much as they can get in their mouths, Kyle is very self conscious. Every stray look falls right between his eyes and it dives down to the sleeping kid he is holding. Every whisper is focused in gossip about why David Cook has come along with his drummer instead of his best friends. And no one seems to care about the call Andy managed to make earlier that Sunday, without breaking down, to say that he and Neal will arrive in Terre Haute in time to attend the celebrations.

Kyle hasn't been to many funerals and burials in his life, though the only one he remembers clearly is the one that marked him. Adam has yet to be buried, but the family has chosen to start the funeral at home with all the people who have traveled there. In Kyle's memory, etched in fire and stone, his father's funeral burns deep – they buried him before the gathering at home, but he has to admit that most of his family had traveled from as far away as San Diego, and that had just been his great–aunt Maureen. Anyway, he feels out of place with Hayden stuck to his hip even when David ambles toward them; his black tie is gripping his throat, and he knows black is not a color made for kids.

"Kyle," David whispers when he reaches them. "I'm sorry," he continues. "I shouldn't have left you on your own for so long. Come with me, I'll introduce you to my mother."

Kyle begins to protest against David's apologies. They had been in Adam's house less than five minutes when David had been swept away by his family, but Kyle understands, of course he does. "David, listen, Hayden is tired. He may not be a perfect little man..." he tries to reason, but David dismisses his words with a wave of his hand.

"My parents have raised five kids in their lives. They know about children. Now, please."

Kyle follows him. He can do nothing else, not when he can relate to his pain. They wade through the throng of people till the reach the other end of the living room, where Adam's wife, who Kyle has to talk to, is sitting on a couch with a blonde woman. "Mom," David says. "Kendra. I want you to meet someone."

Both women look up; Kendra has a lost tear racing down her cheek and the look of defeat is edgier in her features. "This is Kyle Peek," David keeps on. "And this is his son Hayden."

Kyle reaches out his free hand and shakes Kendra's. "Nice to meet you again. And again, I'm sorry for your loss." Kendra blinks and nods silently.

"Mom, this is Kyle. He is my boyfriend," David bites his lip. "Kyle, this is my mother, Beth."

"Nice to meet you," Kyle repeats politely. "I'm sorry for your loss." Although he knows Adam wasn't Beth's son but her ex–husband's, Kyle can sense they were closer than most families. David has told him about his family – about his father widowing with a kid and marrying his mother, and then David and Drew were born before his parents divorced and remarried, and then Beth and Grenvell hadn't had any children though Stan had met Vik and now David has two younger sisters. Kyle knows a lot about families and family intrigues; David's is almost normal.

Beth shakes his hand with a sad smile. "I wish we had met in happier circumstances," she says.

"Me too," he retorts. Hayden stirs in his arms and kicks out. "Sorry," he apologizes. "Hayden is a bit tired."

"How old is he?" Beth asks as Hayden opens his eyes and looks around, lost.

"Daddy," he calls looking up.

"Shhh, Hayden. I'm here," he coos. "He'll be three next month."

"My younger daughter is four," Kendra pipes in. "Both my children are hiding under the table. This has been so hard on them and they could use... a friend."

Kyle nods. He understands; he walks with Hayden to the table in the center of the room as he explains to his son who is underneath the cover falling to the floor and how he allows Hayden to play with the kids under there. When he flops up the piece of clothe he finds two very scared–looking children, one girl and one boy, staring at them with wide eyes. "Hey," he greets softly. They tremble. "You seem bored here. Do you mind a bit of company?"

They shake their heads no. Kyle enters under the table on his knees, pushing Hayden before him. "This is Hayden. And I'm Kyle. Do you think two grown girls like you can play with us?" They nod again; Kyle smiles softly. He knows they won't say a thing in a while, it was the same for Josh and him when their father passed away, but he also knows the girls will get over it. Kyle spends an eternity with the children, and he feels satisfied when the boy shows him half a smile. Then, the edge of the cover is lifted, just when Hayden is babbling something about toys and the younger girl is retaliating, and David crawls in. His tie is askew, he looks out of place in his black suit and the shirt seems to be choking him. "Dave?" Kyle calls.

"I was... I can't be out there right now," David explains. "How are my kids?"

His niece squeals, followed by his little nephew, it's not a happy sound but at least it's not a sob either. Kyle sighs. "How are _you_?"

"Coping," David whispers back when the children are not looking. "Andy and Neal will be here any moment. They... Kendra wanted to wait till they came to... to..." He trails off and gulps, visibly moved. Kyle puts his hand on David's and squeezes it strongly.

"You're not alone," he says as he leans in to whisper in David's ear. "I love you."

David screws his eyes shut for a moment; when he opens them again Kyle can see he is not drowning anymore. David squeezes his fingers back and moves to get out from under the table. "Can we fast forward and skip this moment in time?" he pleads.

"I'm afraid we can't," Kyle sighs. "But it will only be a while. We can do whatever you want after that."

"Even if I ask for an ice cream?" David's voice is small and childish. All the children stare at him in disbelief.

"Even that." Kyle agrees because it's the only thing he can do. "I'll even invite Hayden and the girls too, if they behave." The children cheer and when they get out into the room again Kendra is looking at him with a grateful smile painted in her face.

Andy and Neal arrive with no problem whatsoever, looking as out of place as a penguin in a garage would be. Georgia isn't with them, just like Jennye hasn't traveled all the way to Indiana. David has broken what seems to be a golden rule around here – Kyle shouldn't have been introduced during such a time, and maybe he shouldn't have brought his son along, for these are not good manners and a way to behave according to what sounds like a strict Midwest society, but he couldn't care less. David needed him, still needs him, and Kyle is not going to leave him alone in times of need. Neal shares a knowing look with Andy and they position at the other side of David, the side with an arm that's not attached like glue to Kyle's. "We're here," the blond greets him. He doesn't look like a wreck anymore but the sadness is present in his voice. Andy nods at the same time as he laces his fingers with Neal's. Kyle hurts just by seeing them suffering to the point of not hiding how they're feeling; he has never seen them holding hands in public, like the brothers they are at heart if not by birth, ever. Neal catches David's palm and holds it in his, and thus they form a human wall with Kyle holding Hayden at the other end of the line. They walk behind Kendra and the other children, right beside Drew and Stan, Beth and the rest of the official family a step behind. He holds David as he breaks down when the first raindrops fall into the half open grave where the coffin is being deposited.

Kyle shouldn't have trusted that David would forget about the letter; he shouldn't have traveled with it either. As promised, after all is said and done and there's nothing they can do except crying their eyes out until they dry off, Kyle asks Kendra for permission to take her daughters out for an ice cream and he drives her car around a town he doesn't even know, Andy and Neal squished between the children in the back seat and David in the passenger seat, staring out of the window as if the world isn't revolving anymore. Kyle finds a parlor and parks the car near enough for everyone to get out of the car and run inside. The children wear their brightest smiles given the circumstances; in their special language Hayden and David's niece and nephew have exchanged their pain and suffering and now they are best friends. Neal drags Andy on, Kyle pushes David forward. In the end, the kids are playing in the playground and the adults are staring at their orders as if waiting for them to wake up and entertain them; Kyle suspects his boyfriend just wanted to get out of the house and into somewhere happier or at least where no one had died. Suddenly David snaps his head up and looks straight into Kyle's eyes. "What was that letter?" he asks in a soft voice. Andy looks at Neal and Neal looks at Andy but they don't say anything – Kyle is thankful for their lack of curiosity or their high respect for others' intimacy.

"Nothing you have to worry about."

"Whoever it was, the threats were quite clear, Kyle. Of course I'm worried," David insists.

"I know who it was, and believe me, he's inoffensive."

"Oh, you know who the hell that man is and you think a death threat is not dangerous? Excuse me if I'm a bit incredulous here, Kyle, but I just lost my brother and I'm not about to lose my boyfriend as well!" David has raised his voice; his friends widen their eyes and both their gazes turn to Kyle who is now blushing to the root of his hair.

"Calm down," he pleads. "Listen, it's Joseph, Nicole's father. He's just... He's not well," he tries to explain. David shakes his head and reaches out for Hayden's bag. "Hey, what're you doing?!"

"Taking the letter," David retorts calmly. "I can't believe you have it with the kid's things. Hayden can read!"

"Are you going to teach me how to raise my son, David?" Kyle feels he's losing his cool and he doesn't like it, but if anything, the contents of the letter are private and not even David has any right to trespass those boundaries. "I've told you, Joseph's not a threat to anyone. He's just recovering from an enormous loss."

"So, when he says, and I'm quoting," David displays the letter over the table and searches for the correct line. " _If you had any decency you'd have disappeared but since you seem to enjoy your life without Nicole after faking pain the day she died, I'll make sure you join her_ , he's just as innocent as a lamb, right?"

"David," Kyle can't stand it anymore. "Please, leave it alone. Joseph is not any menace to anyone. I'm okay."

"I hate to get in the middle of this," Andy interrupts. "But I think that implying that he'll help you join his dead daughter is a death threat. Nicole's Hayden's mother, right?"

It's overwhelming; Kyle closes his eyes but not even that helps. He is torn between crying and screaming, so when given the choice he ends up doing both. Hot tears fall down his cheeks and over his ice cream as years of frustration and self loathing find their way out. "Don't you dare say her name!" he yells. "You didn't know her, you didn't know me back then, you have no right to have an opinion! She died, she died and left me and he tried to choke me because it was my fault that she died, it was my fault and I have to live with a reminder of that for the rest of my life!"

"You're causing a scene," Neal points out calmly. Kyle finds out he doesn't really care, not anymore, not when he's speaking his heart out of his chest for the crows to pick on it. David, however, has a different plan. He puts his palm on the table and hands the letter back to Kyle.

"Kyle," he starts softly. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have said anything, at least not today. I didn't mean to imply you don't know how to take care of your son, because you do, you're the best parent under twenty–five I've ever seen but I'm worried. That letter means a threat, whether you consider it one or not, and I'm seriously worried. Promise me you'll go to the police if there's another letter."

Kyle breathes in deeply. "I'm sorry too," he apologizes. "I... Nicole's death is still a fresh wound. But today you're the important one. I'm sorry I yelled at you." He doesn't promise what he knows he can't keep, but David seems to be satisfied with it for the time being. Andy and Neal don't say anything; Kyle is sure they want to pinpoint the lack of a promise and therefore he is grateful when they zip their mouths.

For a month, the letters keep coming to him among the fan mail but he manages to hide their contents from David, or so he thinks. As Hayden's birthday approaches, he grows more and more nervous. Deep inside he is aware that Joseph is actually a threat to his life but he can't go to the police – he still thinks he's to blame for Nicole's death – and if Joseph attempts something, it will take place the night his daughter died.

The day Hayden turns three David throws a very special party for the child. He brings his niece and his nephew to the tour for the day, the first friends Hayden has ever made; the birthday boy is ecstatic. As a consequence, when the kids leave with Kendra, Hayden is high on sugar and excitement and it's a lost battle to put him to bed. Kyle knows his son should have a scheduled sleep time but living in a tour bus is intense enough to leave him exhausted by the end of the day without having to fight a toddler. So he just allows Hayden to play around the bus as Neal and Georgia hide in the back room and Andy and Joey announce they're going to bed, with just one rule applying – he can't bother anyone.

Kyle sits down in the recreational area with a box full of fan mail that he has received and that he has yet to read. There is a blue envelope under a stuffed horse with a label announcing it was a gift for Hayden; he frowns because Georgia is the one in charge of dividing the mail into boxes and giving them to the boys and, since the incident in the ice cream parlor in Terre Haute, everyone living in that tour bus has been aware of the situation with the letters. Even Ryan once approached Kyle to ask about then. With a weary feeling, he grasps the envelope in his shaking hands and tears it open. He reads the few handwritten lines several times; it feels as if the letter is unfinished, as if someone had interrupted Joseph as he was writing it and he had decided to send it nevertheless, finished or not.

_Now that you're rich and famous, you have forgotten what you left behind, haven't you, Kyle? You never talk about her or what she gave to you; you never mention that she lost her life giving birth to that bastard you fathered; you never even say her name. Do your new friends know the kind of monster they live with? Do they accept the bastard? Do they mind you let her die and then kept on with your life as if she didn't matter to you? Did Nicole ever mean something, or was she just another figure in your wicked chest game?_

There is another letter that calls to his attention. It looks official; when he takes it he notices the stamp of a Los Angeles court. He frowns. When he breaks it open and reads it, his heart drops to his feet. It's a judiciary citation for him to declare in the process against Mr Joseph Bannswagon in California. He rubs his face, he rubs his eyes and waits for both letters to disappear but when he looks down again they're still over the table. He can't comprehend how Nicole's father has been arrested if he hasn't called the police or even told anyone about the letters, until a little light bulb switches on over his head.

David strolls into the recreational area as if he owns the place, which he does, but he doesn't fool Kyle. There is a slight trembling in his hands, that hold a piece of paper suspiciously similar to Kyle's. "Hey, babe," David greets, flopping down on a seat in front of Kyle. "Reading fan mail?" The trembling increases, David is nervous and Kyle can tell.

"Unless you call a citation from a court to testify in a process against Nicole's father _fan mail_ , no, I wasn't reading fan mail," Kyle retaliates in a low and hard voice.

"Kyle, I can explain," David begins.

"You can save it," Kyle raises his voice without noticing, attracting Hayden to their zone. "How did you do it? Have you told my mother and she has called the cops? Or was it you alone all along, David?"

"Daddy?" the child calls out.

"Hayden, go back to the bunk," both David and Kyle command at the same time. They have spent so much time together that now they share a brain as well; Kyle wonders how he hasn't realized something was happening if he is so in tune with his boyfriend.

The child turns around and obeys without asking anything; Kyle has taught him not to question it when he gives him an order. The drummer turns to David again, waving both letters in his hand. "Answer me, David."

"Your mother was as worried as we all were, Kyle. When I talked to her she asked me to send her a copy of the letters."

"Now you're going to tell me you didn't know she was going to call the police!" Kyle throws his hands in the air. "I can't believe you have done this. I told you I was fine, that I could handle it!"

"Like hell you could!" David explodes as well. "Joseph threatened to kill you in several occasions; the police saw it crystal clear, your mother saw it crystal clear, we all saw it coming and you were the only one blind to it! For Christ's sake, Kyle, we were thinking about you and Hayden since you didn't seem to care about your own wellbeing!"

"So I'm not a good parent," Kyle retorts. It stings to hear David saying that he didn't take his son's safety into account. "The bottom line is that you don't consider me a suitable father. What'll be the next step, David? Taking _me_ to court so you can have Hayden's custody?"

"What's all this nonsense?" David is yelling. "What the hell, Kyle? I help put a maniac in jail and you jump at my throat? He was threatening you!"

"You didn't have any right to get in the middle of my life, David! More so when I told you _not to_!" 

"Now I don't have any _right_?" David looks hurt. "I am your _boyfriend_ , Kyle, I _love_ you!"

"Because of that you should have told me!"

"And risk you refusing to get help, just like you've been doing from the beginning, because of some stupid pride issue? No way, Kyle." David blinks at him. Kyle can see tears in his eyes and he is almost touched by them. Almost. He is too angry for pity. "I love you and Hayden way too much to let you be in such danger. I'm not apologizing for what I've done."

"Fine," Kyle mutters as he stands up. "If that's what you want." He attempts to walk past David but the singer is faster and blocks his way out. "Let me go," he demands.

"You are free to go wherever you want to," David replies softly. "But not before you've heard me out and understood my reasons."

"There's nothing to understand, David. You've done something I specifically told you not to; you've stepped all over the trust I had in you. I'm sorry if this is not the outcome you thought you'd have, but this is what _I_ think." He breathes in and speaks quickly, forcefully, brokenly. "You've gone one step too far, David. I... I don't know if I can forgive you."

David looks like he has been slapped in the face with a smelly fish while someone punched him in the gut. The tears break the barrier of his eyelids as he reaches out for Kyle; the drummer ducks him. "Kyle," he says, and it sounds like a plead, like a poor man begging for a drop of water in the middle of the Sahara desert. "Please. I thought it was for the best."

"I..." Kyle gulps around the sudden lump forming in his throat. Watching David, tall and built up, breaking in front of him, right before his eyes, is much more than he can take. "I..." He doesn't know what to say; anything implying hatred feels too strong but anything not implying it sounds too light. Kyle loves David, and deep inside he knows David has acted rightly – he has shown more bravery than Kyle himself, fighting for a child who's not even his and for the personal wellbeing of a boyfriend who isn't being grateful. But Kyle feels betrayed in the deepest part of his soul and he might need time to find the strength to forgive David. "I..."

"What the fucking hell is a deer doing in the middle of the road?!" the driver screams, cutting him off. He doesn't have time to say what he is about to. The driver pushes the brakes that screech under the pressure; Kyle loses his stance and falls backwards against the table. Forks and knives and spoons and even the coffee maker fly thanks to the gravity and they cause a war zone around them; Kyle saves his ear luckily – a fork misses it by inches. He hurts his ankle with the blow. David is pushed forward by the motion and he falls on Kyle. Tangled together, they ball up and roll around when the bus skids.

There are yells and swearing when the bus begins to roll over itself. Kyle hits the roof with his neck bent; the pain is almost unbearable but then the bus finds its balance and falls back on its six wheels with a loud noise. "Hayden!" Kyle calls. "Where's Hayden?"

"Watch out!" David exclaims. "Kyle!"

There is no time left when his voice reaches Kyle. Hayden's little arm peeks out from the bus corridor, seemingly lifeless. The drummer loses his mind then and tries to run to his son; the driver pushes the brakes to the ground and it isn't enough, never enough, and the bus skids again out of control. It crosses the road, sliding on the pavement, until the brakes work again. But by functioning, they provoke the chaos inside the bus.

Kyle misses one step and falters at the same time as the force of the brakes attempting to stop the bus pulls him backwards. His left arm draws a complete circle when he stretches it to catch Hayden; he sees the kid trying to get up but he can't reach his son. Try as he might to fight the impulse back, the blow pulls him to the window panes. David jumps forward to grip Kyle's arm but he falls a second too late.

Kyle feels his back hitting the window, he feels the pain of his bones breaking the glass under the impact, he feels the cool air sipping through the hole like light getting inside a room through the blinds at sunrise. He watches Hayden stumbling to get to the now destroyed recreational area, his little fingers touching his head but Kyle doesn't see blood. He witnesses as David pushes up his whole weight on his right hand, trembling visibly as his left wrist hangs in an awkward angle from his arm. The gravity tugs at his nape and suddenly he is exhausted, so, so tired that all he wants to do is close his eyes and sleep. He never sees the pavement his body is approaching as quickly as a missile.

"KYLE!" David screams. His hurt hand thrusts forward. Kyle stretches out his own fingers but it's too late, too painful. The bus stops a few feet away from the point where Kyle has fallen, its wheels turning endlessly while the vehicle is suspended in the air by the roots of an enormous tree Kyle can't really recognize. He feels short of breath suddenly. He thinks of his son and wonders if Hayden is alright, he thinks of David and attempts to send him his forgiveness and his love. He has little time, he realizes briefly. His heads hits the pavement with a loud crack.

It all fades to black.


	9. trapdoor in the floor of the stage

The warm Floridian breeze brushes past his skin once he steps out of the airport. He is holding Hayden against his hip, his son fast asleep with his head on Kyle's chest, right above Kyle's heart, the steady beating lulling him. He carries his backpack on just his right shoulder, full of clothes and ready to welcome new memories. His short hair sticks in every direction possible after hours of flying and Hayden tugging nervously at it asking how long the flight was before he could see Auntie Georgia and Uncle Neal. Kyle sighs as he stops a cab and manages to open the door without dropping either the kid or the backpack. He gives the taxi driver the address and leans back into the seat. 

He has researched about his past now that he knew what to look for. His mother has helped him remember some details, like the audition for none other than David Cook; Georgia has provided him with the itch of wanting to know why he had been fighting with said David Cook when the bus had rolled over itself. The Internet is a resourceful and handy bunch of information, Kyle has discovered. He has learned a lot about himself just by typing the correct words, though not everything he knows now has been easy to digest. In fact, there is not much about him online, but whatever little he has found has been useful. Kyle knows he used to play football before the shows with David, that he had his own legion of fans who miss him even after so long and who have sworn to hate the new drummer in the band forever. But he has been taught a lesson by the little man now asleep on his hip on the trip to the venue. He hasn't even booked a room in any hotel; he trusts his memory to either work and therefore they will stay in the tour bus, or not work at all so he has a return ticket plane booked just in case. 

They reach the place where David Cook's band will be playing before Kyle had anticipated; left there, in a street on a side of the venue, he realizes he can be recognized even if he still doesn't remember who he was a year ago. He is afraid of rabid fans, more so after having heard the tales Georgia told him about crazy women mobbing Neal – thanks to Google Kyle now can put a name to the Irish face smirking back at him from the pictures on his wall – and stalkerish teenagers sneaking inside the tour bus once. 

Hayden is still asleep against his hip while Kyle attempts to find a solution to his problem; he doesn't dare to move for fear his own fans might recognize him – he supposes they still go to the shows, and it is giving him a hell of a headache. He looks around for a place to sit down while he thinks, and finds a door on one of the walls. Carefully, he ambles there and leans his back on the door, letting himself slide slowly to the ground. His brilliant plan seems to be a little less brilliant by the minute, until he bangs his head on the door when it cracks open, scaring him beyond reason. He springs to his feet, Hayden finally awake; he turns around to meet whoever has open that door and faces a tall, big blond man staring down at him with wide blue eyes. 

"Neal?" he asks, his mind supplying the name. 

"God, Kyle!" Neal exclaims, his hands shaking in the air, the cigarette in his left trembling. "What the hell are you doing here? Why didn't you call? Have you... Have you remembered?" There is a tinge of hope in the last words of his tirade; Kyle finds himself wishing he could answer affirmatively. 

"Er, I don't know?" Kyle replies. "I don’t know why I didn't call, and I for sure don't remember much... yet." 

Neal is staring at him bewildered, but before neither of them can say anything else Hayden squirms in Kyle's arms and tries to get to the ground. "Uncle Neal!" he squeals, his arms reaching out, fists opening and closing grabbingly. "Uncle Neal!" 

"Come here, Peekaboo," Neal says affectionately, catching the child and taking him from Kyle as he squishes Hayden against his chest. "I've missed you so much, little man," he whispers in the kid's hair. "Hey, you're all grown up now!" 

Hayden giggles. "I'm almost four!" he announces happily. 

"Oh, yeah? Cool!" Neal is interacting with Hayden as if Kyle's son is his own; Kyle remembers the tough appearance Neal puts up for the world to see – the rocker, the tattooed man, the guitar god – and can't help but guess how many people actually know he is a softie at heart. He blinks – he shouldn't know that tidbit of information either, but maybe his memory is working again for he can latch our and grasp that particular image of another life. "Now, Hayden, what do you say, we get inside and you see the rest?" 

Hayden lets out another squeal and nods vigorously. There is apprehension bubbling up inside of Kyle; Neal apparently catches up on that for he looks uncertain for a few seconds. "I will take him back before you even blink twice," Neal reassures him. "I understand that you don't want to go inside." 

Kyle shakes his head, still unsure but strangely determined to get through this, because he has flown half the country to find out who he really is and if he doesn't get inside the building and face the people he used to love, he will never know. "I'll... I'll go too." 

"You don't trust me with your son," Neal says, drawing out some of the vowels in that Midwest accent of his. "I understand, okay? You don't know me anymore." 

"I don' remember knowing you," Kyle explains. "But my son trusts you. And given that he remembers much more than I do, I'll go with him. He can be a handful sometimes." 

Neal laughs, bringing back some memories to Kyle's head – tongue sticking out of his mouth during a show, an almost maniacal laugh echoing through the stage, times when they were all happy – and he stills mid–movement, causing Neal to stop as well. "Kyle?" 

"You love to laugh while playing," Kyle stutters. "You love to laugh." 

Neal sighs. It's a sound full of regrets, or at least it sounds like that to Kyle. "There are a lot of things I love, Kyle, that I don't do anymore." 

"Obviously," Kyle retorts matter–of–factly, before repressing himself. "You used to hug me a lot before, and tease me a lot as well, something you haven't done yet." 

Neal's breath hitches noisily; Kyle stares back at him, unaware for a split second of what he has said, until his own words repeat in his head a second time. "Kyle, that was... what I think it was?" Neal is still holding Hayden, who looks between them a little bored. Kyle nods. 

"It was... a memory, I hope. No one told me... and it wasn't in the pics on the wall, either." 

"Pics on the wall?" 

"Georgia hasn't told you, right? It's not that she actually saw them then, but I told her everything about–––" 

"Wait, wait, have you talked to Georgia? When?" 

Kyle remembers way too late that no one was supposed to know Georgia had flown to Los Angeles to visit him. He shrugs helplessly. "I'm afraid I've put my foot in my mouth." 

"I'm so going to kill her," Neal throws his free hand in the air. "Come on, get inside. Even if you can't remember them, the guys will be thrilled to see you again. Fuck, Dave may even smile again." 

Kyle is pretty curious about the reasons why David Cook is so upset about him not remembering a thing, but he doesn't ask. He never questions anything, and at times like this he wonders if he always acted like that before, never wanting to find out. Neal is already stepping back inside, so Kyle follows him, attempting to keep his pace, which proves to be almost impossible for Neal is nearly running, clearly amusing Hayden in the process of killing Kyle's lungs with the effort. 

The corridor comes to an end soon enough, and they come out onto a bigger room; Kyle can see the stage, all full with instruments and pedals, a shiny drum set on the back; blue lights mix with pink as the techs test the illumination. Neal sets Hayden on the ground; the child jogs to the stage on his wobbly, unsteady legs, making funny noises that Kyle recognizes as mimicking of the sounds a band makes when they are playing. He smiles; his son seems so happy right now, so he congratulates himself on this decision to seek his own past. Kyle looks around, drinking in as much as he can; his eyes wander until they settle on the drum set again, there is some fluttery feeling trembling in his heart when he stares at the only thing he has never forgotten about. He is so mesmerized that he doesn't notice it when Hayden disappears through the door by the back of the room, until loud voices and clattering sounds carry through the air. 

"Oh, my God, it's Hayden!" 

"Hey, little man, how did you get here?" 

"Uncle Andy! Uncle Joey!" 

Kyle shakes himself back to this now and here; Neal is already walking to the door from where Georgia is getting out, Hayden in tow, followed by the crowd of strangers from Kyle's photographs. There is a tall man, curly dust blond hair, and a much younger guy, dark and already sweaty as if he had just run a marathon. Kyle's first reaction is to hide from them; he finds the drums are big enough to shelter behind them so he just walks there and before he can realize it he has the stick in his hands, sticks that aren't his at all and therefore their touch is foreign to his fingertips but he doesn't care at all. A force, powerful and attiring, pulls at him. He finds it hard to resist, so hard to fight back anymore; he can't remember how he knows what to do but at the same time he doesn't care, doesn't care about his audience, doesn't care about a past he can't remember. He raises his hands, fingers gripping the sticks firmly but gently, and closes his eyes to the world. 

The first bang fleshes life to him. 

He plays by instinct, he closes his eyes and a myriad of images floods his mind blinding him as he keeps hitting the cymbals – _glowing sticks, laughter, secret concerts, piggybacks, walking Dublin at night, long jamming sessions, and him, him, him_ – and all of a sudden he finds a voice he didn't know he had and he begins singing, low and almost inaudible, barely a thread of music over his own drumming frenzy. He doesn't see the other guys exchanging amazed stares before joining him on the stage, but somehow he manages to hear his son clapping delightedly; he stops playing just like he started, abruptly, to look at his son who is jumping up and down besides Georgia. 

"Daddy, you're doing music!" he exclaims gleefully; Kyle can't bring himself to correct a three–year–old so he just smiles back before turning to the other band members. He feels dizzy with all the memories dancing the conga around his head. He meets their gazes, their names now popping in his memory before anyone has to tip him, along with so many little details he should be overwhelmed of knowing yet all he can think about is the great void in the middle of the stage, where David Cook should be. 

"Kyle?" Andy asks cautiously; he has one hand on the keyboards and the other resting on his hip, as if waiting for a miracle. "Are you okay, dude?" 

"Don't think I don't know you've always been this caring, Skibby," Kyle replies, earning himself a bright, almost blinding, smile from the dark–haired man. "Do you still steal people's food?" 

"Welcome back, Kyle," Joey greets, clapping his hands, as Andy rushes to the drum set and embraces Kyle, manhood be damned. Neal shares a knowing glance with Georgia; Kyle has the feeling these two will share more than words and looks later to celebrate, and it pleases him to know he remembers exactly the kind of relationship the guitarist and the tour coordinator have. Which leads him to the big doubt of his new found past. 

"Where is Dave?" he asks. 

"Listen, Kyle," Andy starts and it isn't a surprise; after all, Neal and he are David's best friends. "He hasn't been feeling at all fine, so he prefers to... rest before each concert." 

"Where?" 

"It can be a shock for him," Neal continues. "I mean, you remember some things and such, but do you remember it all? Dave can't... he won't survive another blow." 

Kyle sighs. He understands, of course; he still isn't sure about what related him to the lead singer, but from what Georgia told him and his memories he comprehends David Cook is a very sensitive man who has to live with the weight of not having been able to save him. He suspects there is more to that, more in that fight they had before the accident, and then there is the giant void in his soul, a void he feels only David can fill for some strange reason. "Where?" 

"I don't think–––" 

"In the green room," Georgia and Joey say at once, cutting Andy off. "Second door at the left." 

Kyle jumps out of the drum set in no time and runs to his new destination, his son in tow and the others a little behind, having reacted a bit later. The door is ajar, Kyle can see nothing but darkness, hear nothing but an unsteady breath before it breaks into a loud sob. His heart clenches in his chest at the sound, broken and off–key. He bursts into the green room, good manners be damned, and switches the light on. There is a couch in the middle of the room, taking up space, facing away from the door. The back of the sofa is sagging slightly, a pair of hands lifted in the air before being dragged back down. Kyle steps nervously inside and clears his throat. The sobs stop abruptly, as if the person on the couch has finally become aware of the fact that he isn't alone in the room. "Hello?" a voice asks from behind the piece of furniture. 

Kyle is struck by that sound, the drawl of the voice calling to him, attracting him to it like the light attracts the insects – and there is a song about that somewhere in the old repertoire Andy and Neal used to perform – so he is forced to walk to that voice. "Dave?" he whispers, slowly, unsure. "Dave, it's me. It's Kyle." 

"What the hell was in those pills they gave me?" David wonders out loud, never leaving his shelter. "Now I fucking hear _his_ voice." 

"No, Dave, I am here for real," Kyle continues, getting to the couch and circling it. He kneels besides the sofa and looks down at the body sprawled on it, at the slender and pale figure that looks back as if he were some sort of ghost sent from the past to haunt the living, the lifeless eyes and the rebel auburn hair sticking in every direction possible. "I'm here for real," he repeats, lower and softer. 

"Kyle? What are you doing here?" Dave's voice helps Kyle to find his center, his stability in those orbs wide in awe. He knows the true answer is too long, too complex, so he settles for replying with the next best thing. 

"Remembering." 

David struggles to get to a sitting position. "No way." 

"There was something involving red glowing sticks and at some point you gave me a piggyback ride. I bet that's enough for starters." Kyle manages to make David smile, albeit a really small, lopsided smile. 

"It can be," David sighs. "So, you're not a hallucination." 

Hayden chooses that exact moment to make his way to the couch and lunge himself to David, catching both of them by surprise. The kid beams up at the singer and tugs at the auburn hair. David yelps, looking down at the child; he wraps his arms around the little frame and starts tickling Hayden, who in turn giggles, squirming to get out of David's grip. "Buddy, you're so tall!" David coos, fingers strumming along Hayden's sides. 

"I'm almost four, David!" Hayden repeats; Kyle notices the lack of endearment term and wonders what the reason is for that, why David deserves a different treatment from his son when it is obvious that the singer and Kyle were closer than the rest of the band. 

"That I can see! Are you ready for rockin'?" 

Hayden squees. "Daddy can play too!" 

Both Kyle and David glance at the child before looking at each other. There is uncertainty in Kyle’s eyes, and something pretty similar to hope in David's. Neither of them speaks in what seems like the longest time even if it is only a few seconds. "Let's see if your daddy can go through a whole show," David finally admits. "He has been recovering." 

"I know," Hayden nods. "Grams says Daddy won't play never again." 

"Ever," David and Kyle correct him at the same time. It feels oddly familiar, being able to speak along with someone else who is not his mother, and it tells him a lot about the closeness he shares with David. 

Neal calls for Hayden. "Come here, Peekaboo, we'll find your earphones so you can stay the concert, okay?" 

"The green ones?" Hayden asks as he finally frees himself from David and strolls to the crowd blocking the door. Neal scoops him up and turns to leave, his free hand searching for Georgia's as they are followed by Andy and Joey. Kyle still has to meet the new drummer; he doesn't want to ask, though, a part of him jealous of that man who gets to share their stage every night, and who knows what else, and that same part of his self reminds him of what exactly he has been lacking for the past ten months. He is too afraid to name it, though. 

David gets up of the couch, his taller frame shadowing Kyle's. There is an indecipherable light in his hazel eyes, a light that shines brighter within the time they spend alone in the room. David's hands open and close in fists at his sides; Kyle thinks he wants to touch Kyle the way Kyle itches to touch him, but they are both just too scared to move forward. 

"Is that all you remember?" David asks in a low voice, his eyes trained to a spot right behind Kyle. 

"I'm here to get everything back," Kyle confesses. "I've been remembering some things, here and there, and I hoped that being around you... I don't know what I thought I could–––" 

"It isn't the same without you," David keeps on. "Paul, the new drummer... he is not you. I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm sorry I didn't catch you in time. I promised I would take care of Hayden and you and I just..." 

"Shut up, Dave," Kyle finds himself ordering, the itch in his hands more and more bothering. He steps into David's personal space – he can't remember when he got on his feet or how he was so far away from David, and it has nothing to do with the accident, it's just that Kyle can't stand being so separated from David, as if they were made to be close, to be together, to belong to each other. "I'm not going anywhere now. I'm here, and I'm not leaving. And I forgive you," he adds almost as an afterthought; he has the feeling David needs to hear it. "I'm here and I forgive you." 

David swallows visibly, his fists unclenching at his sides, and suddenly he looks so small, so insecure; Kyle knows what to do, his gut supplying what his mind can't grasp. He leans up, his fingers reaching to touch David's face. "Do what you want to, Dave. I won't stop you, I won't reject you," he assures the singer. "Just... help me remember." 

David seems so tense that Kyle wishes he could ease the lines marring his forehead, but all he can offer us a wordless reassurance. So he waits, and waits, with his eyes closed to avoid looking straight into defeat and pain laced in those open eyes, until he feels everything and nothing at all, lips on his, hands tangling in his hair, and the void slowly starts to fade away. He allows David to kiss him at first, but when he feels the older man is pulling away Kyle suddenly remembers what he is supposed to do so he sneaks his hands to the back of David's neck and pulls him closer, biting, nipping, marking, not ready to stop yet. 

And there is a lot of things rushing into his head all at once – long days on the road, exciting nights waiting for the crowd to calm down, early mornings defying the sun, lazy evenings twined together teaching Hayden to count to twenty and to pronounce one of David's longest words, the taste of their first kiss and the feeling of their first shared bunk, Hayden growing surrounded by the music that gives his father life, forgetting he was taunted by a past that marked his fate – and there are so many little details he can't find anywhere but right now he can't care less, not when he is tangled in such heat, welcoming warm warmth where he can get lost. He has to breathe at some point, so he finally lets go of David – or David lets go of him, Kyle isn't sure – but he doesn't walk too far away. David is crunched forward, so their foreheads are touching, his hands sneaking to Kyle's waist to hold him in place. They are both breathing heavily; Kyle pants and trembles, unsure about what to say or what to do, he hasn't done anything remotely similar to this in a long time, or at least as long as he can remember which isn't really much, but he is willing to learn, if it means being close to David. 

"I'm sorry," David whispers, starting to pull away. "I shouldn't have... This is not..." 

"Dave," Kyle stops him, his own hand travelling down to his waist where David's fingers are still gripping his skin over his shirt loosely. "This is exactly what I was looking for." 

"How can you know, if you don't remember?" David almost accuses; Kyle can see the tears in his eyes. "How can you know?" 

"I think I remember some things," Kyle says, shaking his head as his hands keep David exactly where he is. "But there are others that I didn't need to remember, Dave. Other things I knew deep inside; I was just too afraid of acknowledging them." 

"For example?" David's voice is playful, with the tiniest glint of hope in it, and it is enough for Kyle. 

"That I missed you guys; I missed being here even if I didn't remember who you were; I missed playing and touring, I missed... I missed you." Kyle looks straight into David's eyes because he needs the singer to fully understand that Kyle is speaking with his soul in his hand, that he is talking about feelings and not memories. "That I love you." 

Kyle waits as the light in David's green eyes flickers, as the singer catches on the present tense that contradicts all of Kyle's previous statements. He smiles nervously, afraid he has stepped too out of line; David tightens his grasp on Kyle and pulls him closer. "I love you too," David confesses so softly that Kyle wonders if he has just imagined ever hearing those words. 

He shifts, and his lower body brushes against David's groin, and the singer is hard and throbbing at the touch. Kyle lets out a small gasp that is nothing compared to David's hiss. "Dave?" 

"I'm... I'm sorry," David moves to separate his body from Kyle's, but the younger man steadies him and keeps him unmoving. "It's just... it's been too long." 

"Really?" Kyle can't help but ask. "But you have been on tour and... there are groupies... and there have been parties and..." 

"Kyle," David smiles despite the sad tone Kyle can appreciate in his voice. "Have you?" he questions simply, and though it has a broken structure Kyle understands fully. He shakes his head. "Good. I don't know what I'd have done if you'd said yes. You know, I'm kinda faithful and... I love you. I had this hope that you'd remember and come back to me." 

"Now you're using your own songs on me?" Kyle jokes mildly, just the shadow of sarcasm fading away in his words. "I don't remember everything, but I do remember this," he continues, allowing his hand to wander to the front of David's jeans, caressing slowly in circles. He feels David inhale sharply; the singer doesn't speak for a while as if giving Kyle time to think about this, to make sure Kyle wants this just as much as he does; Kyle decides to show David just how much he _needs_ to feel David – he steps on the tip of his toes to kiss David sloppily, aligning their crotches and rubbing his own erection to David's. They both hiss and shift. 

"Kyle, Kyle, stop," David manages to gasp out. "Kyle!" 

Kyle stills reluctantly. For a second he wonders if he has misread the signals, if actually David is just needy after so many months but that doesn't really make sense to his most rational brain that reminds him of David's words, of the loving declaration, so he discards his own fears and looks up. 

"We can't do this," David tries to explain in between intakes of breath. "You... and I... I don't have anything, Kyle." He is moving his hands awkwardly, but Kyle understands and laughs. "What?" 

"It's okay," he manages to spit out while he fights to control his laughter. "I thought you didn't want to... but it's okay. We can wait till after the show," he adds suggestively. 

"Then, uh, I should go to the bathroom now..." David retreats stumbling. 

"Need a hand?" Kyle chuckles. 

They end up together in the tiny bathroom, hands in each other's underwear, sweaty and panting, crying out each other's name, after so many moons apart. When they finally emerge, pieced back together, they are holding hands, fingers mapping out palms, memorizing skin on skin as if time hadn't passed by them. They make their way to the main room in the venue, where the rest of the band is sitting around, Hayden on top of Neal who is wrestling with the kid and clearly losing. There are other six people Kyle doesn't recognize. Everyone turns their heads when they step inside, still hand in hand; Hayden grins and gets off Neal's chest to run towards them. Kyle lets go of David to scoop his son up, twirling around with him. 

"Watch it, Dave," Andy calls out. "You know, anyone could think you've done naughty things to Kyle." 

David laughs heartily while Hayden pulls at Kyle's bang. "Daddy, why do you have funny hair?" Kyle muffles his laugh by hiding his face on David's shoulders, leaving a very surprised Hayden staring at him. 

"That, Hayden, is something that I will explain to you when you grow up," David says. Kyle's heart seems to burst with something strangely similar to happiness – David plans to stick around for a long time, despite Kyle's problem and its tricky and almost nonexistent solution. "But now, I'd like to introduce Kyle to our opening act." para Kyle extricates himself from David, from the smell that is inherently _his_ and reminds Kyle of past shows and feelings he will never be able to forget. "Kyle, these are Matt, Paul, George, Luke, Bryan and Tony; they're opening for us, and Paul plays the drums during our show as well. Guys, this is Kyle. He's..." he hesitates for a second before squaring his shoulders. "He is our former drummer, currently recovering, and my boyfriend." 

"Dad, is David your boyfriend too?" Hayden chooses that very moment to speak, causing general giggles and guffaws in everyone except David and Kyle, who blush violently. 

"Yes," Kyle replies in a low voice. 

"Oh, fine," Hayden purses his lips. "Are you going to do kissy kissy together?" 

This time not even Kyle can stop his own laugh so he nods and once again stuffs his head in the crook of David's neck. 

Once the laughter subsides, Paul lifts a hand as if asking for permission to speak. Everyone looks at him, Joey with that goofy grin so characteristically his – Kyle doesn't know if he will ever be able to not remember the good times his recovering memory supplies whenever he sees that grin – when he finally opens his mouth. "Does this mean I can stop playing for you?" 

"Woah, Paul, I can tell you're excited about being a part of the band," Neal says sarcastically, but now Kyle can feel all their gazes on him – Georgia is trying not to look hopeful but she is failing miserably. 

"Maybe I could give it a try?" he wonders aloud. The cheering brings him back to better days, reminding him of that very first moment when he accepted to be part of that unnamed band. Slowly, other memories find their path to his heart; Kyle is just happy to have decided to fly half the country, because otherwise he would have lost that half of himself forever. 

They fool around until it is time for sound check, David never really letting go of Kyle; but then the time for their rehearsal is up and Kyle can't wait to feel the sticks between his fingers again. He leaves Hayden with Georgia and walks straight to the drum set that is not his but that he will make his own with time, and sits behind it. He reminds himself he has to call his mother to tell her they won't be going home in a long time, so she can pack their things and send them to some tour stop, but then he sees his son squeeing while talking on Georgia's cell phone and he understands she has called his mother. Kyle doesn't need to remember how to be grateful for Georgia. 

Sound check comes and goes and then it is time for the opening act whose name Kyle still ignores to perform. After their show, all the lights go down and the venue remains in the dark. No one has announced that Kyle is back, and Georgia has ensured Hayden wouldn't be seen either, so it will be a surprise for everyone. He just hopes he won't let anyone down, though he feels he can go through a performance with his eyes closed, despite his lack of a complete memory. Joey and Andy pat him on the back before stepping on the stage; Neal sticks his tongue out at him and follows them. David squeezes his shoulder and mutters _I love you_. Then Kyle is off to his spot. When the lights go up and the stage can be finally seen, there are whispers among the audience. They don't seem to believe Kyle is the drummer tonight, but he plans to turn them into believers. He doesn't have time to get ready before David jumps onto the stage, though, but he doesn't care. He has his set of glowing sticks prepared for later, the same sticks David has stored for ten long months reverently. As for now, all he can think about is playing. He steals a glance at his son, dancing around in tune with the music; a soft smile crawls to his lips. He then looks straight ahead, into David's nape, and bows his head. 

He is ready to start making new memories.

The End

**Author's Note:**

>  **[about the title]** If anyone's wondering what the title means or how it's related to this story, let me translate it for you. As most of you already know, I am a big fan of Spanish indie-pop band Maldita Nerea. When I was writing this story, I was searching for a suitable title. It has been the most difficult choice of all my writing history; I listened to different musicians, from David Cook to MWK to To Have Heroes to Switchfoot and Demi Lovato, The Script or Il Divo. When I was about to give up and consider this my first untitled story ever posted, Maldita Nerea came to my rescue. And I thought _why not?_ After all, Spanish is my language and it's not so common that I have a chance to show it in fiction. The translation, albeit not completely exact, would something like _**Just In Case You Don't Remember My Embraces (I'm Giving You My Song)**_. I love the sound of it in Spanish, and I thought you'd love it as well.
> 
> If you've made it through this testament, I uncover myself before you. Thanks for having read my story; I hope you'll stay around for more in the near future!


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